I have a new favorite time of the day.
A friend of mine posted on Twitter recently that he thinks his son runs a 5K every day. And given that LB is only sitting down when he is eating (and that is by no means a guarantee), I’d agree that my son also puts some serious mileage on those little legs. I’d wager he runs a quarter-mile per day in bare feet. That’s not even counting once I can catch him to put on shoes.
Our new back yard has a fairly substantial hill (for this part of the state) with a wooden privacy fence at the bottom of it. Yesterday LB probably ran up and down the hill (averaging about two falls and one roll–all intentional– per trip) at least 15 times. I’m thinking of lining the inside of the fence with bubble wrap, spare pillows, and Styrofoam (which, according to spell-check, needs to be capitalized. Is that a brand name? This warrants googling.) The little guy loves to run.
But after all the running, the temper tantrums, the frolicking in the yard with the dog, and the unnecessarily long trips up and down the stairs at the new house, there’s my new favorite time of the day. Though he (literally) kicks and screams at the thought of bed time, once I get him in the room, with the lights off, sitting in the rocking chair, something magical happens. We’ll sing a song (Amazing Grace is his favorite this week) and pray.
With his little head on my shoulder, I say two prayers. One from his perspective, and one from mine. Then, I ask him if he wants to pray. Most days he says “not yet” and then mumbles something about Elmo. Where his treasure is, his heart goes.
I love being a dad.