Still believes it's Danger

"Daddy, what is your middle name?"

"Snorklepuss."

"No.  What is your middle name?"

"Snorklepuss."

"NO.  What is your real middle name?"

"Snorklepuss."

"NO!  What was your middle name before?"

"You mean before it was Snorklepuss?"

"Yeah."

"Patrick."

"Oh.  What was Mommy's middle name before it was Danger?"

Balancing

Another climbing confidence domino fell today.  That's Rowan in the yellow shirt.

Here he is running into his sister.

I suppose I should've been following them around way up there, helicopter blades a-spinning.  But it seems like so many people from my generation are nostalgic for the past, when they played outside unsupervised until dark, sat in the front seat of the car at age four, and never ever used hand sanitizer.  I see that point of view, but I'd also love to build my kids a tower that'll protect them from everything.  Trouble is, I'm effectively teaching them to climb out of it.

Really, it's a million little parenting decisions, trying to help the kids balance between confidence and independence, and broken limbs.  So far, so good.

Fish domino

"Daddy, I tan't det on dis fiss!  Hep me!"

In accordance with my goal that Rowan one day gets a job and moves out of my house, I refused to help him get on the fish.

"But I tan't do it!"

One father/son Nike pep-talk later, Rowan hefted himself on the fish.  I didn't realize at the time that mastering the fish would set the string of climbing confidence dominoes tumbling into the abyss.  Remember last August when Lyla, age three-and-a-half, climbed this?
  

It's 10 feet off the ground.  I nearly had a heart attack.  Well today her brother, age two-and-a-half...

That's why you don't help your kid get on the fish.

Looking out for the boy

Rowan's arm got bitten today by Jibber Jabber, the daycare python.

Just kidding, it was a kid who wanted Rowan's toy.  Rowan was all, "Hell no!" and the kid was all, "Nom nom!" 

I'm going to let it slide this time, but if it happens again, I'll find out who the kid is, go teach at his eventual high school, and then in 12 years write extra critical feedback on his English homework.

Speaking of ridiculous ways to look out for my son's best interests, today I took out all the toilet seats in the house and replaced them with ones that lower slowly.  I read an article that mentioned emergency room visits due to the toilet lid slamming on a young boy's [shudder].

Don't worry, buddy.  I've got your back.  And your front.

Helmet reason

I bought a Burley on Craigslist because Julie wanted to make biking 75 pounds tougher.  It also gave Rowan an actual reason to wear his helmet.

Guru

Auntie Lori convinced Rowan to take a nap on our parents' downstairs couch.  She is the toddler whisperer.

Not exactly rough

Due to an armageddon-like weather forecast, Lyla and I didn't go camping.  Instead, I grilled a beer can chicken.  Recipe: rub spices and butter on it, shove an optimistically half-full can of Premium up its ass, and stand it up and grill using indirect heat.

The kids liked it, and afterward I made them s'mores a la stove.

They have always been highly contemplative dessert eaters.

So we didn't end up roughing it exactly, but at least we avoided lightning strikes and hail concussions.