I took him out after work last night having discovered the Wife prostrate in bed with a blankie over her head. My pocket Husband's Handy Guide suggested "make yourself useful!" so off we went.
The idyllic weather suggested a trip to the former Dead Man's Swamp, which unlike the bay pier doesn't naturally germinate a fine coating of mud from "scaring birdies" and hurling handfuls of excavated muck at the incoming tide.
We had a fine time with Fuss rampaging around the paths, pinwheeling eucalyptus leaves from the bridges into oceanbound streams and playing Ooop-La!, where he charges me at full speed and I heave him skyward while shouting OOOP-LA! He also practiced fencing with strips of bark and annoyed the ducks, throwing handfuls of weeds into the pond contra their expectations of savory treats.
He started to wear down after an hour or so and we headed back to the car.
As usual, the negotiations to get him in his seat dragged on like NFL labor talks. There's always a loud, prolonged crisis if I use my natural advantages to swoop him up and strap him in, so when possible I indulge the fantasy that it's all his idea and I'm just making suggestions he's free to ignore. He usually comes around after 15-30 minutes of dilly-dallying and parental cajoling.
Last night's procrastinating involved walking around the logs surrounding the trailhead, which was mildly freaking me out- it wasn't long ago I had to accompany him on the circuit, holding his hand as he wobbled precariously along.
Now he just hops up and scampers along like a squirrel.
Finally I herded him over to the car, but he insisted on one more sprint and took off down the sidwalk. He made it about a half dozen steps before something tripped him up and he face-planted into the concrete.
I snatched him up, wailing and crying, to access the damage. Both knees, one of them pretty good, and his nose- a few little cuts on top, and somehow a scrape underneath between nose and lip.
Not for me the shoulder-punching and It'll feel better when it stops hurting stoicism of the previous generation- I gave consolation my best shot while (finally) bundling him into the car. He recovered in a hurry and inside five minutes was complaining that I was taking him home and saying he was fine and wanted to go have a treat.
Got him home, cleaned him up and installed him on the couch with his blankies. The Wife emerged from the bedroom to inspect him and was greeted with a wave of his hand and a long suffering "I'm fine, Mama".
So, that's what we did last night.
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