Cowboys and indiana jones's

It truly is amazing how much the mind of a 4 yr old can suck up, and how strange, yet facile it can be as well.

IN the fever surrounding the upcoming 4th installment of the indiana jones series, i decided in a nod to nostalgia to add the first 3 movies to my library. to no ones surprise, jr friggin went through the ROOF when he watched them.. imagine the red bull-infused ferret (jr) alternately standing on the couch screaming at the top of his lungs "RUN MAN......RUN!!!!" whilst indy makes his mad dash for freedom from the crushing ball of doom and then sitting enraptured, quietly for 20 minutes at a time. later jr grabs one of his wooden train tracks (and holds it like an automatic rifle) starts goin "pow pow POW pow" ...." take that! i'll save you cowboy" as jr "shoots" at the bad guys once again try to capture/kill indy.

it seems like i hear the phrase "cowboy movie daddy...PLEASEEEEEE!" at least 3 times daily or more.. jr apparently idintifies indy by his hat, and has come to the conclusion that indy is in fact a COWBOY! where the hell he learned that "cowboys" are the stereotypical hat wearing rough and tumble heroes of the american psyche, i don't know... but ask yourself... if you saw indy for the first time, and didh't know what he was... wouldn't you think he migh tbe a cowboy too?

i really thought a little male heroism would be a good thing, until the other day when it smacked me in the face (literally) that this might be in fact a VERY BAD THING.

so there i am sitting on the couch blissfully absorbed in a good book, mom is stuck on the electronic nipple, and jr... well he's busy shooting nazi's (idyllic scene huh)!
little did we know that this was actually a cataclysm in the making.

SMAAACK! one of my wifes skechers brand boots (with the 2 inch thick rubber soles) whaps me upside the head with the force of a-rod trying to loft one into the next century.

i whip around knowing exactly who is responsible for this assault on me, just in time to see jr LEAP...(i mean he damn well jumped 4 feet down the hall from the top of the couch, like a spider monkey going for the next tree) all the while screaming at the top of his lungs "i'm sSSSOOOORRREEEE daddy" (god in heaven the survival instincts this kid has)
by the time i stagger to his room (a bit groggily, that freakin hurt) where he has retreated to, and is now ensconsed behind a veritable minefield of toys and toyboxes, (no doubt put there to slow down my inevitable approach) jr suddenly whips out his little stuffed dragon and says (with tears brimming inn his little eyes) " sorry dayddy here dragon gonna kiss it and make it better"

WHAT IN THE HELL DO YOU DO WITH THAT!!!!! i mean i really can't whup the heck outta him.. he really is sorry, and it really was an accident....

defeated i stumble back to the living room i rub my head (and wounded ego) and look to see what had happened. jr ever so helpfully comes up to the shoe (now laying on the ground after clubbing the sense outta me) grabs one of the shoelaces and hefts this thing off the ground and says "look daddy, my whip"

DAMN YOU TO HELL INDY!

peace
-dawg