It appears my idea of fun and that of 8-year-old boys are not the same. Recently, my little guy invited a gaggle of boys over to play after school and it was completely nuts! Things were peachy keen at first; they came in starving--demanding a snack---I fed them milk and cookies--Classic! They were such precious little imps...gobbling down the cookies and wearing milk moustaches proudly--I was beaming with motherly warmth. I had become Donna Reed.....
Within minutes my fairytale image was shot to hell when one of the boys took off his shirt, ran outside, and grabbed a big stick and started yelling......the rest followed. It was like a Lord of The Flies re-enactment........screaming, chanting, big sticks flailing about....."Oh My God!," I screamed, "That's how somebody loses an eye!" I know I was being a total wet blanket...but what else could I do? It calmed them for a moment.....
I returned to the kitchen, enjoying the solitude, imagining the boys playing hide and seek and the like........obviously I'm a boy-mommy-moron......
The next sound I heard was engines...Greased Lightening at Thunder Road......the boys had taken the moped and gocart out front---without helmets, shoes or shirts...and without asking....Note to self: Hide the key! These little maniacs were insane in the membrane and I had no more brainpower! By the time I yelled, screamed, cried enough to get them off said motorized equipment....parents came to pick up. Thank GOD! Until I heard one of the little suckers rat me out with, "Dad! This is the most dangerous house I've ever been to! Can I come back tomorrow?" ACES! I hear I'm nominated for Mom of The Year! WINNER!
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