I haven't figured this out yet . . .
It’s kind of nice when I get some alone time with my children. They behave differently . . . by actually playing with me instead of running away for mommy. Tonight was one of those nights and I was excited when G asked to play catch with me.
What started out as a friendly game of catch between me and my boy turned into a bombardment of balls at my person. I’m not even sure how it happened. They just started finding balls in their playroom and turned on me with their deceptively strong arms and evil laughs.
Most of these balls don’t really hurt, of course, having been made of foam or rubber and all. But that golf ball they found doesn’t feel too nice, especially when it happens to strike bone.
Once they had me curled up in the fetal position they didn’t waste any time jumping on me. I tried to capture footage of my torture, but it just looks like I took some bad pictures of some happy kids.