Here’s the deal. Yesterday evening when I went out to grill chicken, Little Apache #3 was heading out with me. When I told him to grab the matches, he said, “They’re already out there.”
“What were you doing with them?” I asked him, because I knew they hadn’t burned trash.
Well, as it turns out, the matches were, indeed, out there along with a can of mosquito spray sitting on the grill. A certain brave who shall remain nameless, but who should be hung by his toe nails from the nearest yard arm, had been making his own flame thrower with the spray and a match.
Okay. Now you know why I walk around comatose half of my days. I never know where the next blow is coming from where they’re concerned. It’s an epic event when they hit their 16th birthdays. So far, one of them has made it, but it’s looking shaky for a few of the rest.
Lord, have mercy. It just seems like a cruel joke when you hear that scientifically and biologically speaking, the last portion of the human brain to develop is the center that controls common sense and reasoning abilities. I think I’ve heard somewhere that this part doesn’t finishing baking, so to speak, until about the age of 25 (not positive, but that is close). How is this fair, I ask?
Doggone those kids. We’re going to have coloring hour every day with lots more work added to their list. They clearly have too much time on their hands.