The Windy Way Home

Asher's preschool is a short three blocks from our house.  Which makes for a convenient commute, especially since he often whines when we make him walk.

Yet somehow, the same boy that pleads with me to carry him all the way to school (sorry, kid, no can do) prefers that we take a very windy way home.  Literally, we walk the perimeter of the preschool campus, so basically four blocks when we could've walked one to get to the same place.

But it isn't just the added distance.  It's climbing up a stone wall and tiptoeing up high while I hold his hand.  It's taking the stairs of an old church to a balcony where he can look down on car traffic.  It's backing up to an imaginary starting line, where he insists that we crouch down and sprint forward, and yet also hop on one foot and follow a snaky path forward.

I could go on - there are literally dozens of little quirks that can make up any given walk home - but you get the picture.  I usually have anywhere from one to three hours of work left to do at this point in my day, and I'm pining to get back to it so I can get to bed at a decent hour.  He doesn't care.  So I accommodate.  Isn't that what fathers and sons should do, is take the windy way home?