Battle For the Wooden Spoon

This is Ben speaking. I know, many of you blog readers wondered if I even exist. Well, I have nothing against the blogging world, but simply don't do it nearly as well as my wonderful wife. Yes, you Melinda. However, it is past 1:00 and I have 10 more pages of GI physiology that I have to finish before I can take my test tomorrow morning. Naturally, I think I have time to make my blogging debut right now.

Our son will be the end of us. As seen in this video, he rambles and rants to himself all day long. While Melinda was at card club last night, I took the little man for a walk to the mailbox. This excursion should last about 2 minutes. After finding his little shoes and jacket, we headed out. I opened the door and he shot out as fast as he could go, leaving me in the dust, and ran straight off the edge of our porch. He didn't even break his stride as he hurtled himself off to certain doom. Proportionally, the drop off the 6 inch step for him would be like watching a normal size person walk off a 3-foot wall. Sure, it probably wouldn't kill you to fall off but I would definitely not throw myself off of it WITHOUT EVEN LOOKING. Being the hero Dad, I rushed out and whisked him out of midair, saving him from a nasty faceplant on the front sidewalk. We were off.

Walking with a 29 inch tall boy is difficult. a) you can't stand upright and still hold his hand. He is too short. b) Because he is so short, he is interested in everything on the ground. I think it is because he is so close to it. Rocks, garbage, water, mud, and individual blades of grass are all riveting. And c) small boys hate holding hands. I invented a new way to overcome this last problem. I make him hold my pointer finger, and then grab his wrist with my other 3 fingers and thumb. This way he can hold my hand if he wants to, but if he doesn't, well, he still will hold my hand.

All in all, it took approximately 15 minutes to walk with Emerson to the mailbox (alone, it would take 2 minutes maybe, if I was slow). Then he opened each large community mailbox for another 5 minutes or so (a daily tradition), and then we headed home. I let him lead, and we ended up crossing the little street between the mailbox and our house 7 1/2 times, finally coming to rest on top of the storm drain. By the way he was staring down into the dark abyss, I could see we would never make it, so I excercised my fatherly authority and picked him up. After all that exercise, he calmly looked at me and stuck his finger in his nose.