Simon Says

Simon Says. Well his name isn’t really Simon. And he isn’t actually saying anything.

But there I am, spinning around, putting my hands on my head, then to my ears, touching the ground (at least my truncated version of this move), hands on shoulders, then over my eyes,  spinning some more. I am tired just writing about it.

He has a grin, punctuated now and then by a delighted chuckle or two, nearly all the while we are playing this game. Clearly loving pulling the strings on Papa.

He is old enough now that trouble is never more than a bad idea away. Even with both eyes fixed on him and with my constant pleas for some restraint, I am powerless to stop this engine from revving. Today he is traveling at warp speed, jumping off the couch, scooting down the hallway, always just the next thought from a momentary disaster. I am in a constant state of slight panic.

And about Simon saying. He is actually talking quite a lot these days. His version of cock-a- doodle doo is, in my wholly unbiased opinion...  Well, you will just have to hear it yourself to accurately judge it on the cuteness meter.

So now there are two in this house who have me tightly wrapped around their finger. Two who have figured out that their wish is my command.

Except maybe if Simon says for me to spin around in the hallway until I fall sideways onto the bathroom floor.  

You see, there are even limits on what Papa will do.