I hear little man making noise in his room long after bedtime so I go in
and find...sister passed out, a lamp on, a measuring tape under the
edge of his covers, his cowboy hat tossed in in the corner of his bed,
his sheriff's badge and belt at his feet, his bow and arrow half
unstrung, the arrow string tied around his knight's helmet, and a little
boy peeking out at me from under the covers. He says to me, in ever so
soft a voice and with a glint in his eye and a slight smile on his face,
"I'm fichin (fishin), Papa."
What's a fisherman Papa to do?!
I
half-heartedly scold him, turn out the light, tuck him in, kiss him on
his head and tell him I love him. As I was typing this, I decided to
check back in on him. In a matter of less than five minutes, he has
totally sacked out but the butt of his 'fishing pole' is tucked under
his back while the tip is still hanging, line and all, over the edge of
his bed...still fishin.
That's enough to warm a fella's heart.
1 comment:
That is awesome! Tell him to come out and teach us how to fish here in CO. Thanks for sharing.
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