He has a promising future as a weatherman.
My sister got a soft-sided ball pit for Rush‘s first birthday. When I visit, I turn it into a game I call Stormy Seas, in which I roll him around in the ball pit while yelling different nautical terms. He laughs merrily as I toss him about while bellowing things like, “Hurricane off the port bow! Batten down the hatches, lads! Look to starboard, man-there goes the mast, because you didn’t batten down the hatch! NOW A SHARK IS NIBBLING ON YOUR TUMMY!” It’s all very authentic; I’ve done my research. Anyway, Rush loves being a doomed sailor. He asks for the game by sidling up to me and ominously announcing, “Storm coming!”
Rush notices a storm on the horizon approximately every 30 seconds.
Rush notices a storm on the horizon approximately every 30 seconds.