Now that I have succumbed to the reality of having two boys, my thoughts are now starting to evolve into ways to keep those little a-holes out of the ER.  We all know boys are Tasmanian Devils that apparently don’t hear what their parents say unless it involves ice cream or boobs.  Their ability to listen is most certainly selective, because screaming their names or saying no doesn’t seem to resonate.

Being the helicopter mom that I currently am, I know this helicopter is in for a crash landing. There is no way I can maintain my lunatic-self with two boys OR the future emergency room patient – will be me.

I have two older brothers and have heard the horror stories from their childhoods and witness many of these stories myself.   Yes, in hindsight the stories seem funny, but I am sure my parents were not laughing when they stamped their Frequent Rewards Card at the ER every week when those two were little.  You name it; they had it happen to them. One brother broke his chin trying to boobie-trap the other one. Who the hell breaks their chin? The other brother broke both of his wrists while trying to do a flip out of a swing.  The poor guy had to wear casts, which were held up with rods attached to a belt around his waist.  Know what this meant?  My mom had to help him pee, shower, eat, etc. He was in Junior High school at the time.  I’m sure having your mom help you pee at that age was humiliating. For the record: I am not holding either of my son’s man parts if their dumb a** breaks their wrists. Take note boys.

Now, I had my fair share of doing stupid sh*t.  I was a definitely a tomboy who didn’t have fear of much.  For example: once while on my way to work at my lifeguard job, I got a flat tire.  No biggie – right?  Wrong. Obviously, I don’t know how nor am strong enough to change a tire, so I pulled over on the left hand side of the road.  Yes, left side. Way to go brainiac! I then proceeded to walk down Interstate 35 in a bathing suit, all the while hitchhiking to get a ride to a phone.  Now this was, of course, before cell phones if you can even imagine that. I finally caught a ride with an 80-year-old couple that I first asked, “Promise you aren’t going to kill me?  It’s hot and I can’t walk anymore.”  They replied with a resounding, and almost defensive, “No, we aren’t going to hurt you!” And continued with, “You really shouldn’t be walking down the highway in a bathing suit.”  No sh*t Sherlock. Thanks for the words of wisdom.

Either way my stupidity didn’t land me in the ER (knock on wood), or on a black market in some foreign country, so that was a plus.   Point being: I know my boys will make stupid choices, it’s all part of being a kid and learning. However, if those choices involve blood; I’ll be the mom passed out in the corner with a hand full of rosary beads, praying it’s only stiches or casts. Wish me luck.