It’s not about words. It’s about communicating.
My son isn’t a doctor. He’s doesn’t line up shoes or toys. He doesn’t scream when hugged. He doesn’t count cards, toothpicks, or, well, anything. He’s none of those things
Even when I play-fight with him, he giggles and wraps his arms around me for hugs.
It’s not even five in the morning. Let the games begin.
Then again, it’s hard being a parent at all. Actually it’s hard just being alive sometimes.
It’s times like this when I’m forced to bare witness to the barest of witnesses.
Defending the home team isn’t just about the people who live in your actual home. It’s about the people who live in your heart.
Ironically, it’s his attempts to get out of showing me what he can do that has shown me the most.
This wasn’t a debate or disagreement. This was performance art.
An early end to a wonderful day is better than a late end to a miserable one.