Our daughter usually hits the hay (figuratively speaking, of course) a little earlier than the boys, mostly because her school day starts earlier but also because she’s probably had her fill of her brothers. Lexi was almost asleep while Mac and Zac threw toys at me, by which I mean we played catch with stuffed animals and mini soccer balls. I was reminded again last night, while Lexi drifted to sleep and the boys ran around the basement in their footed pajamas, that it’s my job to teach them certain things. Throwing stuff, for example. Also, catching stuff.

“Try throwing it with an arc, Malachi.”
“What’s an ark? Like animals on a boat?”
“Well, ark and arc are homonyms.”
“Were they on the ark?”
“What, homonyms?”
“No. Soccer balls. AHGHHH!”

And he threw it. Perfectly. And I caught it. And I said “GOOD THROW, Mac!” And all the animals on the ark rejoiced.

Zac, age 2, chose to walk the ball to his brother, which I suppose is foundational to the game of catch. When you realize that you can throw something as opposed to taking the time to walk it from point A to point B, it’s epiphany time. Epiphany is a word that means “can you toss me that can opener?”. And I can. And soon, so will Zac.

But only if I’ve done my job correctly.