Smacking my son up

So I’m back. Big fat thanks to my guest bloggers Doug, Risto and Kerry for keeping the flame burning.
So what have I been up to? Spent a week in rain-drenched Sälen, where I have a rain-drenched time-share, summed up my first year as a freelancer and hit my four-year-old son for the first time. Yes, I know you’re not supposed to, but we were barrelling down highway some-number between Falun and Hofors, it was dark and raining and he kept reaching over to hit the windshield wiper stick. When he did it again about five seconds after my best “if-you-do-that-one-more-time” speech, just to see if I was serious, I flung out my arm and hit him in the chest.
He cried for two minutes, sulked for five more, then fell asleep and doesn’t seem to remember the whole thing. Scarred for life? I would have to say ... no.