It's been a very long while since I've posted. I'd like to think in that time fatherhood has made me a better, more mature and patient person. Perhaps it has, but the internal talking and muttering I constantly engage in is as strong as it was a year ago. I try, I try.
The good news is that both of my beasties are alive and well- yes, I set the bar at a ridiculously low level. But I'm really excited to report that neither of my kid's has been driven to that fateful emergency room visit for broken bones or split heads. Not that we haven't had our share of hospital visits (mostly on vacation) for croup or other "expensive colds" as I refer to them - ask my wife about the time we were in Palm Springs and she was with my son in a triage bed when the guy next to them died at 4 AM- true story but given the location I like to assume he was 103 and it was time to go.
This is all not for trying- at least on my kids part. I'm amazed every day that I haven't gotten a phone call from school informing me to follow the noise of the overhead airlift helicopter to the nearest Harborview Medical Center. It's mind boggling how often they both put themselves at risk for great harm. My son can turn simple things like walking UP stairs into a reckless pursuit of stitches. His current strategy involves putting his feet at least 3 stairs above the rest of his body while hanging his upper body from the lower railing. I think it's kinda like watching a spider flipped on its back try to walk up a window- spectacularly slippery and mostly unsuccessful as a mode of transportation. This nor my yelling does not deter him.
Most of the time there is no ritual to witness such Darwin award winning acts. But there is morning school drop-off. There's time to prepare. I see it coming. Yet I'm never in control.
Our school is on a hill. Well it's a slight incline to adults but in regard to my daughter's dexterity at running it's more like Pike's Peak. Each morning we get out of the car with a stern 'no running' play- call by me. Inevitably a friend is spotted and gleefully down this incline my daughter goes. Every time I see this I stop walking, as if my lack of movement will slow her down or make her stop. The first few strides are generally ok. It's when her head slowly starts leaning forward that I begin to worry. It slowly takes over and the rest of her body follows, morphing into a posture similar to Usain Bolt crossing the finish line in the 100 meter dash, except she's moving as fast as my grandfather did while mowing the lawn, cocktail in hand.
We've been lucky as the title of this post says. She has yet to drive her face into the cement when her body cannot match the critical mass falling that is her head. But man, her little hands have taken some cement abuse.
I think I'll quit here, you know- not to jinx it.
