The girls were ten and eight when Graphics Magician was born. We've always said that ten years' of experience as the parents of daughters wasn't the SLIGHTEST preparation for having a son.
It's still true. And, if anything, getting even truer.
It's not that the girls weren't challenging as adolescents. We had drama, we had mood swings, we had romantic issues and angst and emotional issues.
But, man, we didn't have anywhere nearly this much sheer self-destructive dumb stuff.
Inflamed growth plate in the heel. Sprained lower back. Bump on the head. Bruises and contusions and scrapes and scratches. Pretty much all from sheer full-speed-aheadedness. Tussling with friends turns rough, continuing to sprint when your foot already hurts, trying to acrobatically maneuver through the house without looking where you're going. Leaping and jumping and flipping and moving, moving, moving.
I approve, actually, and I'm glad he's a boy doing boyish things. Of course, none of his injuries bother him much when he wants to play with his friends, but when it's time to get out of bed in the morning to go to school he's all of a sudden in too much pain to move.
It'd be nice to have one day, just for a change of pace, when he didn't manage to carelessly wreak mayhem on himself.
Hope all's well out there, friends, and God bless.
grt
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