“Giddyup!”

My lower spine can no longer be scientifically classified as a solid.

Last night after dinner, Mini-Me was in full on psychopath mode. When he wasn’t climbing on mommy like a jungle-gym, he was rolling around on the floor speaking in tongues….not toddler babble…full on tongues.

At one point, we got all the toys cleaned up, which is no mean feat:

What the floor usually looks like. Actual image. Not a creatively staged reenactment or facsimile in any way.

Once the floor was clean, I made the mistake of laying down on it. Mini-Me immediately saw an opportunity to cripple me, and climbed onto my back and sat. Just about the time I decided to do some push-ups with the 20 pound terror on my back, The Narrator decided he wasn’t going to miss out on an opportunity to play, so he climbed up behind his brother. Collectively, 80 pounds on me. I managed a few push-ups and was getting ready to roll them off and quit.

Oh no. Not happening. The big one started a small bounce and began to cry “Go! Go! Go!” The little one took up the chant with an excited “EEEEEEEEEEEE DADDDA!!!” and added his own little bounce. In an effort to cease the bouncing, I started to crawl.

Back and forth across the living room floor with the two squealing creatures attached to my back, holding on as I moved along at a snail’s pace to make sure I didn’t kill myself, or dump them onto the floor. “FAST AND CRAZY!” became the new war cry, and I was forced to pick up the pace, lest they start bouncing again. At one point, I made a turn too quickly and dropped them both. Mini-Me bonked his nose on the floor and cried for a few seconds, then immediately climbed back on and bounced, forcing movement again.

In typical little kid fashion, there was seemingly no end to the game of “Kill daddy.” I tried to stop it once, but Mini-Me had a full on tantrum, and I felt bad. So I laid back down and let the two killers climb back aboard and I crawled forward again. Then turned around again. Then crawled back. Again. And again. And again. They both continued to howl with laughter and the pain crept into my spine and joints, and what felt like rug burn began to plague my kneecaps.

Mommy, ever helpful- sat on the couch and laughed at me. She wasn’t about to put a stop to it and become jungle-gym material again, no sir. If I wasn’t suffering the wound up fury of the boys….she would be, and she’s no fool.

Eventually, we stopped. Mini-Me was COMPLETELY hyped up by this, and five minutes before I brought him in for bed, I attempted to change his diaper, and he began laughing maniacally and rolled away on me. Naked. Have you ever watched a nude toddler flee from a diaper change? It is cripplingly hilarious. It eventually took BOTH mommy and I to hold him down and change him for bed.

Mercifully the boys were soon asleep. Mommy turned her attention to two major Etsy projects she is working on for customers, and I collapsed on the couch, feeling a little like this:

Image Source: http://www.groominghorsesupplies.com via google images.

I’ll tell you what though, the mystery of my own father’s bad back is no longer a mystery.

 

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