Nice Shot

Grant has entered the stage where he wants to play karate with me all the time. (I say "entered the stage" as though ALL children enter a stage where they act like ninjas and attack you with rubber weaponry. This may not be accurate.)

This all started when he watched "Scooby-Doo and the Samurai Sword" on Netflix. He now yells "Hiiiiiii-YA" and comes running at me full steam. Sometimes this ends with a karate chop of some sort, or perhaps a flying leap into my lap. The times that concern me are when it ends with a flurry of slapping or dancing. I am trying to get these instances under control.

Today at church while we stood in the lobby waiting to shake hands with the pastor, Grant turned and without warning, punched me right in the crotch. Right. In. The. Berries. A Patriot missile couldn't have made a more direct strike.

A fellow church goer saw the whole thing and remarked, "That's what you need in the morning." Indeed.

It was probably a good thing that I was foaming at the mouth and not able to form the words "son of a ..." in church. On the way to the parking lot, we had a discussion with Grant regarding punching people in the crotch. The basic gist was, "Don't do that." I think he got the message.

It's a good thing we're pro-adoption. I'm pretty sure there's a part of me that can no longer consider other options.