Last night as I prepared to leave the house I was speaking with my three year-old son about one of my hobbies- rock climbing.
Now, now. I know. I live on the west coast of Florida and the 'rock climbing' that could be accomplished here is little more than going to the local home improvement store and scaling up a few slabs of granite.
Which would be totally awesome if the surface were not so slick.
Because we lack ONE important thing necessary for rock climbing here on the west coast. Mountains.
You don't say?
So, to compensate for our perpetually horizontal terrain we have places such as these who provide a wonderful environment in which to scale the walls of rough particle board and envision yourself atop Mount Kilimanjaro. And I do, as often as I can.
Anyway.
We were talking about how mommy likes to rock climb and 'hopes to one day have rock hard biceps and beefy traps so she can whoop the ass of any child who ever picks on you' when Brae stalled mid-conversation.
Walked over to his rock collection and selected three rocks.
Placed them on the floor and asked 'how this rock climbing thing works'.
Subscribe to:
Post Comments (Atom)
1 comment:
That was too cute! It's so funny how they take things so literal. I forget sometimes and I'm the worst at being snarkastic and saying things that will one day have my children sitting in therapy alongside yours with his "anal dwelling." You cracked me up with that one.
Post a Comment