I don't mourn very long though --- too busy having my heart stop pretty regularly with nearly missed crashes. They just don't stop moving. You only have to see them on a sidewalk to know there's only two speeds: fast and faster. I don't know how many times I've reminded Caelan to stop running headlong to the edge of a crosswalk and seeing cars hit a screeching halt because they don't know his live-on-the-edge-of-disaster game. It's embarrassing the number of times I have to lock eyes with the driver and sheepishly have to say, "Sorry, that's my kid."
This fear only rises as each becomes old enough to ride a scooter or a bike. Micah may not ever slow down, but when you're a mom of boys, you will learn to pick up the pace!!
Probably the thing I'm adjusting to most is the roughhousing. It's just innate. They are inbred to jump off my furniture and then full-body run and tackle each other, and then proceed to roll over each other. I get reassured by Patrick that it's supposed to be normal---or better yet, healthy.
I'm so used to it, I guess I get it. You would think when one crashes and then crumbles in a pile---that tears will come, but to my surprise----there's laughter, which escalates more laughter. Oh BOY!!!
Our latest story is where the youngest decided to jump off the top of the stairs--- head first--- into a toolbox that happened to be on the floor. At diving speed, his forehead hit the corner. Ouch! No one ever told me head injuries would produce that much blood.....both our shirts were covered in his blood...................... More on the next post in the adventure of raising boys.