Yesterday dawned brutal hot for the residents of San Francisco. First thing on the agenda for the day...heading off to an early morning game of family dodge ball. Is there much improvement necessary when parents stand on one side of the court facing their 4th grade sons and, without a single hint of potential child services intervention, have the ability to whip semi-dense Nerf balls at your child's head? I don't think so.
The kids, in their defense, are actually good at this game. They get to practice on a regular basis. But when push came to shove and several parents got smacked with some well aimed balls, the gloves were off. One of the Mom's actually gave a warrior's whooping shout as she rocketed the ball toward her son! It was glorious. Just goes to show that there's a bit of pent up aggression in today's parents. Hell, back in the good old days you could just swat your kid when the spirit moved you (or they shoved you towards the spirit). Now, we gotta arrange dodge ball games.
George the Younger was supposed to attend the family dodge ball game, but was sidelined at the last minute and stayed home. He is officially a budding (bursting, erupting, exploding) teenager. We're 3 months from 13 - and sometimes his mouth works without any help from his brain. After a pre-game altercation where he was asked to take a picture with his brother before Grammy left that morning (this photo entailed a heinous act of potentially having bodily contact with the deadly poisonous skin of his brother) and the ensuing lecture from George the Elder and I about doing things that you should do even when you don't feel like doing them - he decided to answer the question of "what do you think you should have done this morning??" with the brainless nincompoop snappy repartee of (and please feel free to add pre-teen-smart-ass-tone to this in HEAVY doses), "I shoulda taken the frickin picture!"
Alas, George the Younger was summarily grounded and left home to contemplate his revised answer to the question. He's damn lucky that's all he was left contemplating. Upon reflection of our decision to ground him at home, and our subsequent attendance at the dodge ball game, there's a part of me that thinks we should have brought him along. I have a vision of him standing alone and shaking on the opposite side of all the parents who are holding not just those semi-friendly Nerfs - - but the real live red playground balls that we used to endure. Kind of like a firing squad, but less permanent. Frickin picture? Well, we'll show you....Upon our return home, George the Younger was prepared to apologize (although technically he forgot the question he was supposed to be reconsidering the answer to - no shock or surprise). He and Henry (yes, the one with the ultra deadly touch) took to the sprinklers in the front yard. It seems that George the Younger cannot seem to remember when Henry's touch can burn him beyond recognition. Perhaps the sprinklers are a neutralizing force? They had fun, the yard got some needed moisture, I got some photos of the boys at a time when they were loving having each other for the day - - and poor Otto (who was initially invited to play, but decided that sprinklers were not his thing) watched from the window. Blue streak behind him is indeed the ocean. Said ocean today is un-viewable thanks to the fog.
And, yes, for the curious... by the time breakfast time arrived this morning Henry's toxic and gruesome touch was once again in full force. I believe the H came close to physically grazing George the Younger this morning at the kitchen counter. Thankfully Henry did not get close enough to cause any irreparable damage. George the Younger made it school still alive and breathing.
No comments:
Post a Comment