My first (documented) yeah, that's my fuckin' boy moment.

So it's getting pretty darn cold at the playground and the OTHER parents are already starting to wuss out. What to do? Indoor gymnastics! That's what to do! What? Really? Indoor gymnastics? Come on.

Seriously, it's true. There's this place ... wait this post is not about this place. But wait, seriously, this place is fucking amazing! God. I never thought I'd be thinking ... fucking uttering that a gymnastics place is amazing. No. Fucking amazing. So ... This place is a fully equipped gymnastics, ah, studio? gym? Whatever it's called, it's got everything! A pit full of styrofoam blocks. Balancing beams. A 40' long trampoline. Pom poms. A bouncy house. EVERYTHING! They have a stereo system that blares music that makes lil' ones want to rid their bodies of every ounce of energy. So, yes. It is fucking amazing! And at $14/month, quite the deal.

And this is the place where I had my first, as I titled this post, "that's my fuckin' boy moment". The lil' man was just jumping and running around to the song ... who am I kidding. I'd be lying if I named this pop tune. I'm pop-culturally inept. Anyway, he was running and jumping and then he wasn't. He froze as his eye caught Horton, who was surrounded by a mom and her three butterfly net armed children. You see, this motorized elephant was blowing paper butterflies out of its 4' long, flexible trunk. The lil' man was only frozen momentarily, then he ran over to the motorized Horton. The mom handed him a net. He just stood there and watched the other, much older children catch the paper butterflies in their nets. He did nothing. He didn't attempt to catch a butterfly. He didn't even raise his net. He just gazed. I tried to explain the game to him, but he didn't listen to me, let alone, acknowledge my existence (imagine that).

When Horton finally ran out of paper butterflies, the mom turned the mechanical elephant off, gathered all of the paper butterflies from the nets of her children, and placed the paper butterflies back in Horton's belly. I tried to convince the lil' man to go do some more jumpin' on the trampoline. But he wouldn't budge. He was obsessed with this game that appeared to be beyond his comprehension. The mom turned Horton on again. Before Horton spat out a single paper butterfly, the lil' man reached up, grabbed the flexible trunk, and pointed it directly into his net—obviously catching every single paper butterfly. The other kids just looked on, nets drooping at their sides, probably thinking. "MOM! That's not fair."

The mom looked up at me and said, "Umm. You've got a smart one." I'm sure I was beaming. Shit! I probably gave every fucking person in that gymnastics studio a fist-bump without even knowing it. I mean, damn. He's not even two and a half and he's already figured ... fuck! We're screwed.