I think we all remember the incident that almost got my son killed, right?
Good. Tuck that memory away and pull it out in just a few minutes. It’s relevant.
Well, one night last week Brock and I decided that we were going to go for a “run”. I use that term very loosely.
For both of us, honestly. My only motivation to “run” when I was “training” for a 5K was the hopes of leaving my husband in a trail of dust. Once I realized that wasn’t going to happen, it sorta deflated any hope I ever held for me to become a real runner.
I knew that we would end up walking during most of our little outing but I figured, “Meh. How bad can it be?”
Here’s how bad.
The water company decided it would be a good idea to mark the water lines with spray paint about every 50 feet or so. It’s not in an unusual spot either. They have broken ground and started building a new high school near us. For most people, it is an infinitesimally small detail of their day. But for a 3-year-old? Well, it’s quite another story.
Did you know that in the land of three-year-olds you have to do random, illogical acts? Things like jump over said blue lines. Not gingerly step or skip with gusto. Nope. Only jumping will save you from the mean blue lines that were every 50 feet. And because I’m a rock-star mom, I did exactly that.
I also did it because he forced me to. If I didn’t, he would throw himself down in the street until I either picked him up and drug him out-of-the-way of oncoming traffic or I jumped over the stupid blue line.
He is heavy.
So I jumped.
Another thing that Brock likes to do on our walks? Talk. About everything. And considering some of the things Greg has said about how much I like to talk when he thinks I’m not listening, Brock must talk A LOT for me to notice it. Wanna know what we talked about?
The bad people who littered empty soda bottles and Twinkies wrappers along the side of the road.
The neighbors little dog that might bite Brock. But also, it might not. (His words). If we run by it weally weally fast, it will weave us awone. Wight Mom, wight?
The leaf in somebody’s yard. It. Was. Huge.
The man on the bicircle (bicycle) that said “hewwo to me!” Him was weally nice to do dat. Wight Mom, wight?
Every car and truck that drove past us. The debate that is an SUV. It’s bigger than Shaw-shaw’s (my sister) car. It’s not like Daddy’s truck. It’s kinda like Mommy’s van but not weally. And, it’s a different color than Daddy’s truck or Mommy’s van. Very confusing stuff.
A giant stick that we needed to take home with us to show Dad.
Mmmmmmmm. That’s your name, Mom. Mmmmm starts wif ‘Mom’. Wight Mom, wight?
After about 5 minutes of actual walking-time, he ran in front of me, put his hand out and said, “Mom? Will you pick me up?? I’m vewy tiwed of it.”
I’m vewy tiwed of it too, buddy but you are heavy & I’m not lugging you all the way back to the house.
*The only reason that its relevant is because my kids are so weird and random that telling 30 people who Mommy is having a baby when she is definitely not totally ties into this story.
Because it doesn’t even fit at all. That’s how randomness works.