To my kids, my body is a wonderland. Okay, so, maybe not a wonderland. Maybe, my body is more like the old park down the street that could use some major repairs, but that’s not really the point. The point is that since my boys were little they have insisted on using my body as a jungle gym.
It started off innocently enough. A little bounce on the knee accompanied by a rendition of “To Market, To Market”. A careful horsey ride around the living room, though my children insisted it was a piggy ride. (I’m not sure if that is because they love me as much as they love bacon, or because on all fours I resemble a pig more than I do a horse. Some questions are just best left unanswered.)
As they got older, though, a simple bounce on the knee would no longer do. They graduated to spinning. Only, spinning on their own wasn’t fun enough. No, mom needed to lift them and whirl them around the room until one of us (usually me) was sure to puke. But it didn’t stop there. Crashing into mommy, climbing on mommy, yes, even sliding down mommy were more exciting pastimes than actually going to the playground. And, this was just yesterday.
My boys are not little. Young, yes, but not little. Nic at age 8 is nearly 5 feet tall and Aaron is over 4 feet. I try to tell them that they have out grown the equipment but they just come up with new ways to play. Like lately, I’ve become a scratching post. Apparently, the stubble on my legs is just what little arms and backs need to calm an itch.
At least, I have finally found an excuse to not shave every day.