I’m going to start taking pictures for the police report. The Kid has entered a “phase” in which he actively wants me dead.
It started with simple expressions of disapproval: “Stop singing, Daddy!”
Fair enough. Nobody likes my singing and anyway I think at the time I was singing something by the Eagles.
(I was in LA traffic. It makes you do crazy things like sing “Ventura Highway” or “I’m Already Gone.”)
Then this morning he starts saying “Go away!” and “I don’t like Daddy.”
Fine.
More time to read the paper and The Wife is reassured of her #1 status. I can find comfort in that.
Then half an hour ago I get down on the floor to play with him and he hauls off and kicks me in the eye.
Like a field goal kicker.
A little harder and I’m a cyclops.
The Wife made him apologize and took him to the library but like I said, I’m preparing my case against the little creep.
If he thinks kicking hurts just wait til he’s on the wrong end of a civil suit.
