My boys are my reason. You're all now asking, "your reason for what," especially those of you who don't have kids. Simple answer is, they're my reason for everything. It sounds trite, but it's the bald truth. I Love them fiercely, tenderly and totally. I would die or go to war to protect them. They are my greatest source of pride and joy. And sometimes, just sometimes, they drive me CRAZY.
I took them out this evening for a little excursion to the local grocery store to pick up some odds and ends. Of course because they were along, I ended up getting twice as many odds and it never seems to end, but we finally managed to negotiate through the herd with our hard won crap and get to the car, or as the kids call it, the Zzzzippy Pod. By this time, I could feel, distinctly feel, the process of a half dozen more hairs turning gray. My little angels had been possessed as we walked the aisles. They prefer to do that in public, where they can make dad look like an inept parent.
Details you ask? Let's start small, with Owen, affectionately known as The Beast. Somewhere over the course of the past week, he heard the expression "Christ on a bike!". As is the way of things, he figured that the Superstore would be the perfect venue for his own comic debut. He sets to, at the rather impressive top of his voice, in convincing Scots brogue, with a repeated chorus of the phrase. Papa Bear, usually indifferent to what other people think of his kids being kids, was mortified.
Past the cat food:
"Christ on a bike,"
"Christ on a bike,"
"Oh, hello Reverend,"
"Christ on a bike"
OK, so I made up that last one, but that's about how it was. The more I tried to shush, the more he suggested a trip for the Messiah across the water on a two-wheeler.
The big brother wasn't as bad, Gabe likes to ride up front in the cart while The Beast takes the rear facing rumble seat. I long ago gave up the notion of using baskets at the market; no room to corral the kids when, not if when, they need it. Problem is that Gabe is now very independent and getting quite large. At the best of times, these carts corner as well as the Titanic. With The Boy in the bow, the handling becomes glacially sluggish. If he's out of the cart, he must be the driver. The cart handle being above his head, and the fact that the cart empty weighs as much as he does matters not one iota. He's driving. Wishing to encourage independence, and teach a lesson about limitations, I allow this. Gabe has two problems when he drives the cart: steering, and acceleration. The main steering problem is that he can't see where he's going, but he's determined to get there, no matter who or what may be foolish enough to be in the way. The speed problem is that Gabe's only got two gears: stationary and ramming speed. The long and the short is that I get to try to steer and control the cart, while Gabe pushes, without looking like I'm doing so because he'll do a convincing impression of a Viking Berserker if he thinks I'm helping. Finally we reach the checkout. Gabe unloads the groceries. I don't buy eggs anymore...too risky. Owen is smiling and charming the checkout lady, "who are you handsome?'' she asks.
"CHRIST ON A BIKE!!!