One of Finn's favorite activities for the past three years or so has been climbing into his sleeping bag, balling up in the bottom (which he refers to as "getting organized") and having me drag him around the house pretending that we're going to exotic locales - like Australia. Or the Post Office.
I get to talk in funny accents about how we're boarding a plane for the southern hemisphere, as I drag him up and down the stairs or toss the entire sleeping bag up onto a couch. He in turn alternates between laughing uncontrollably and loudly yelling "OUCH!", depending on how much "turbulence" our current flight is experiencing and how much I'm slamming his head into the stairs and/or couch.
This game has gotten significantly less fun for me over time, even though Finn continues to demand it regularly. I still enjoy his efforts to get organized in the sleeping bag, but given that he now weighs roughly the same as a small horse, the dragging part is a chore.
Finn is paying the price for my lack of upper body strength.
Much more my speed these days is swinging Edie around and tossing her up in the air. For me, I mean. I'm not sure she enjoys it, given that she has a look of absolute terror on her face roughly 40% of the time and is constantly trying to avoid me.
Whatever. If she'd learn to walk, she'd be better at outrunning me. Unfortunately for her, she's taking her sweet time getting there. Unlike her brother who was a full-on drunken sailor by now, she has only taken a few steps and prefers furniture cruising to open space adventures.
Maybe I need to start chasing her more. If raising children has taught me anything, it's that terror is a great motivator.
Being short-sighted about this stuff makes parenting so much easier.