Kick...Ball

Paul knows a good many words. Actually, Paul can copy a good many words. There are only a handful which truly make up his vocabulary. "Again" is one, plus "mom," "dad," and the siblings. "Bus" is making its may up to the top as well. But by far, Paul's favorite two words are "kick" and "ball." Usually together & in that order. This phrase is heard over and over in our house & yard, anywhere he sees a ball, and, I'm sure, in his dreams.

This phrase, has many purposes. Sometimes it's his rallying war cry. Like Boromir's horn, he shouts "kick...ball!", calling all to join him in the fight. Yesterday we had an errand at Target. Does your Target have big red concrete balls in the front sidewalk? Our does. Crossing the parking lot Paul glimpsed one. Summoning all his strength he ran as fast as his legs could go across the lot. "Kick...ball!!" Luckily he hasn't perfected his kicking aim. Others have kicked concrete and not lived to tell the story.

Other times it's a warning. Get out of the way because I'm going to "kick...ball"! You better duck because somewhere a ball is getting kicked. And don't watch out just for the giant size soccer ball that can only roll to you, look sharp for a golf ball to the head.

Mostly it's a pleading question. Will you "kick...ball" to me? Or, can I "kick...ball" to you? And especially, can I have the ball in the middle of the huge bin at Target to "kick...ball" down the aisle? I admit, it's a little hard to resist the puppy dog eyes, and harder to stop him from pulling me out the door to play. At the pool, I end up fetching the ball out of the water just so he can throw it back in.

I have a feeling some type of ball sport is in store for this little guy. Balls of the world, you've been warned.