Because sprinting up and down our long hill is not something I find appealing. Walking is OK; maybe even jogging.
But one can’t catch this two-year-old at jogging speed.
He goes limp. If Grandpa Mike wants me in the house, he’ll have to carry me up the hill.
Which isn’t easy. The kid weighs 42 pounds. Someday, I’ll watch him play on the defensive line.
So we get in the door, which I quickly lock behind me. I’m still giving him the stern look.
He breaks into that infectious giggle.