What is it with boys and their toys? Will they ever outgrow this sense of adventure? This sense of wanting to walk along the edge of danger? This continual state of making their mama worry all the time? I understand the rush of the mini bike. I get it. I used to have one and rode alongside my big brother on mini bikes and three wheelers. But now I’ve changed my philosophy… because I’m not the invincible kid on the bike, I’m the mama that labored for hours then had c-sections for these two punks, and now they want to be little daredevils! It’s a different story, you see. No, it’s not a double standard… it’s just not, because it’s not… ok!
I feel this is something I cannot stop. A wave that is going to overtake me whether I like it or not (darn it).
In other household news, Shrek bruised his ribs in football practice today (darn it). He was still riding a football high from an interception he made in last weeks game, and now he’s out for a week. I have thoroughly enjoyed watching him play, but (honestly, and I’m always honest) I am glad to have a weeks rest from worrying over my little ogre.
Oh the highs and lows of raising boys! I wonder if mothers of all boys have a shorter lifespan than mothers who have all girls or a mixture of boys and girls (I’m being serious). The constantness, the high energy, the need for speed, the shotguns, the rattlesnakes, the mini bikes, the gas scooters. Goodness gracious! Can I get an Amen?