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.