Rough Stuff

Every once in a while when we were kids, Dad would come down the stairs after changing out of his work clothes, kneel down on the floor, and put his glasses on top of the stereo. The moment he reached for his glasses, we would erupt in squeals and giggles because that was the sign that we would get to play "rough stuff." All four of us would climb on top of our dad and he would tickle us, pull us, push us over, bulldoze us, and carry us around on his back. Even though there were four of us, I think that our childhood "rough stuff" was mild compared to Nicco's version. Tonight, Nicco was riding on Patrice's back, shaking his head back and forth, squealing, and pounding his daddy. Patrice said "I have a monkey on my back!" Considering the pounding of fists, I said he was more like a gorilla. Nicco stopped squawking long enough to say, very matter of factly, "It's me, your kid." and went right back to his noise.

A little bit later, the game evolved to one in which Nicco climbed up on our bed, ran and jumped into his daddy's arms. He can be a little unpredictable, and the mommy gets a little anxious. One time when he stood up after being thrown back onto the bed, he stumbled in his dizziness and almost fell off the bed. I reached out to block him and he looked at me and said a little breathlessly, "That was close." Then reading the anxiety on my face, he reassured me "I'm still alive."

Well THANK GOODNESS! Carry on!