Parenting is a Kick

No matter how long I raise boys, there are aspects of them that I will never understand.  The physicality in which they move through life is fascinating to me.  

Why is it necessary to karate chop each other while brushing teeth?  Why is tackling a part of getting into the car?   Why is furniture considered a jungle gym? 

All I can do is make some rules about safety, hope they follow at least enough to prevent harm and accept that my house resembles a three-ring circus more often than not.

This morning, as I have been working hard with T.Puzzle to control himself while brushing teeth, I saw a rogue high kick escape from his leg.

“Hands and feet to yourself!” I implored.  “No kicking!”

“I didn’t kick him, Mom.  I missed,” he replied.  His tone indicated that by missing his brother’s face with his foot, that he was the epitome of decorum.

So, the morning was saved.  I’d like to say I owe it all to my incredible parenting skills.  Mostly, I owe it all to T.Puzzle’s terrible aim.

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