I was about to title this post, "Diary of a wimpy kid's mother," but I decided against it. I mean, that's just rude. So what if it took us two hours to get around the one mile loop at the park today? I'm sure it has nothing to do with Liam being a wimp. He's just a kid. A kid with weak legs, a bad attitude, and an impatient mother.
I know he should be wearing a helmet. It hurt his head.
Liam blames his bike. Which is totally understandable. See, it kept "stopping" or "rolling backward" or "making his feet fly off the pedals". And this one time, there was a teensy bit of a downgrade and his bike went SO FAST he had to slam on the brakes and jump off to have a panic attack.
He also blames me. For loving the great outdoors and forcing him to leave the house and not waiting for him when he stopped pedaling for the hundredth time and giving him a little push when he asked for a push but pushing him "WAY TOO HARD!" and making him cry and then not getting him a tissue fast enough when his nose started to run from all the public crying.
And he's right. I probably am at least party to blame. Genetics have something to do with it, right? Although I'm most likely not the parent responsible for Liam's biking gene. That would be Bill. He's way into biking. I mean, he actually owns a road bike! A really nice one, too. At least, that's what he keeps telling me. All I know about it is it has been sitting in my laundry room untouched since he bought it off some guy on Craigslist a month ago. Okay, that's not entirely fair. He did ride it that one day - down the block three houses - only to return with a sore hand.
But who am I to talk? Seriously. I know better than to sit here in my glass house throwing stones. Especially since these days my glass house is really more like a brick house, if you know what I'm saying. The most committed I've been to working out lately was the 45 minutes it took me to get through my post-pregnancy mom and baby yoga DVD with the boys this morning. Not that that's for nothing. I mean, it was pretty challenging. At least, for Liam. (I noticed he had to modify A LOT.)
Maybe he was just saving all his energy for karate class tonight. He did kind of kick ass. Not ass ass. Air ass. It's just a class at the YMCA, not some fancy ass-kicking dojo. Although he did get an official karate uniform tonight. He told Bill all about it on the phone (he's been travelling for work this week). "Dada, guess what? We made delicious chocolate chip cookies and they're delicious. And you're never going to believe it. Sensei brought my gi to class!" That's right. Liam totally speaks karate. He even corrected me when I tried to immitate what he learned in class tonight. "Mama! It's not hi-ya. It's uuhs! Loud and short."
What was I even saying? Oh yeah, I was calling my defenseless five year old wimpy and for some unknown reason taking my hard-working husband down with him. Wow. What a fantastic way to come back from a three week writing hiatus. I mean, seriously. Class. Act.
There's really no way to redeem this post at this point, is there? Damn. Maybe I could share some of these delicious chocolate chip cookies with you? They really are delicious! (The recipe is on the back of the Trader Joe's chocolate chips. Bam.)
He brought the whole plate over. He's optimistic like that.
Eh, what can you do? I guess I'll just leave you with a little conversation I had with my big boy this morning. It's not much but it made me giggle.
On the way out the door I asked Liam to grab a coat or a sweatshirt.
"But I don't want one."
"I don't care. I asked you to grab one."
"But I'm the boss of myself and I say I don't need one."
"Actually, believe it or not, I'm kind of the boss of you. At least until you're old enough to be the boss of yourself."
(Completely astounded.) "But...but...(shaking his head in disbelief)...I'm the boss of some of my things!"
"Yes, that's true."
"Like my balls."
"I'm the boss of my balls! Like how high I can throw them or if I can make them bounce or not. I am completely the boss of my balls."
So, there you go! My wimpy kid is completely the boss of his balls. And with that, I'm going to bed. Good night!