Rarely does a night go by where either one of them don't ask for daddy to play with them. And that usually involves running throughout the house and screaming at the top of their lungs. Brian loves it. Admit it, honey.
And what am I doing while they are tearing apart the house? Either preparing dinner or cleaning up dinner. Nothing exciting. I'd love to tell you I get a manicure or I soak in the tub for an hour. Possibly read another book? No, I prepare or clean. But (to tell you the truth) I'd rather be doing that then fending myself from the toddler terrorists.
And yes, Jamison is pants-less. He is completely potty trained if he isn't wearing anything on the bottom so he is usually neked from the waist down. Put a pair of underwear on him and he reverts back to a 1 year old. It's all about control for him now and I'm about to let him have as much control as he wants because that's the only method I have not attempted.
Part of the fun of playing with daddy is the pain he is put through. He gets choked, pinched, bruised, and is usually deaf by the end of the whole ordeal. As you can see, the kids aren't really bothered by the pain they inflict.