Today we asked Charlie what he would do if he could do anything he wanted. He wanted to play basketball. Because when your big cousins play basketball, you should too, even if you are thirty-three inches tall.
Our only playground ball wouldn't inflate, so we all trouped off to Walmart to buy Charlie his first basketball. He wanted "the orange one" and when we handed it to him in the cart he felt it's bumpy, rubbery cover and said "It's so soft" which reminded me of the time Hank Hill took Bobby to the race track to get him interested in a masculine activity and he touched the velvet rope around a race car on display and said "The rope is soft and pretty!"
(Neither of us has any athletic ability, so our expectations are low in that department, but Charlie has been displaying remarkable grace while dancing to Tejano music in the living room, which is what he does while I cook dinner, and I suggested to Ryan that I sign him up for a dance class. Ryan countered "Or, you know, TENNIS, or BASKETBALL?!")
We picked out a soccer ball too, since Charlie's soccer class starts in two weeks. He wanted to hold "the orange ball" and gave Wesley "the silver ball" to hold in the store.
Then we looked at some bikes. How cute is this?
The moment every little Texan boy dreams of. The day he teaches his son how to ride a bike in the Walmart.
By the way, who is this GIANT BOY?
Basketball turned out to be a little disappointing because we weren't able to hold Charlie up high enough so he could make a basket (like his pregnant pre-school teacher does. That poor woman must be trying to induce labor or something.).
Charlie dribbled and threw the ball around a little and then they watched as Ryan and I "showed them how it's done."
Babylegs: Also good for preventing your crawler from melting his knees off in the Texas summer sun.
This, apparently, is my game face:
Don't you find me intimidating?
Ryan, on the other hand, was all business:
Which is why he made so many baskets while I ran around pretending I can jump high enough to do a lay-up. Charlie yelled "BUMMER!" every time I missed. I explained to him that a generation or two ago this kind of hands-on parenting was considered strange, you know.
Notice the relative positions of the ball and basket in this one. Hoo boy Charlie and Wesley are in t-r-o-u-b-l-e.
Then we noticed a crazy rash on Wesley's neck and took him home to dose him up with Benadryl. We were so distracted with worry Charlie filled one of his Crocs with applesauce and then licked it out. Ah, two.