Wednesday’s are Baddy’s evening to be full on testosterone with his friends. In the wintertime they race up mountains on skins as the sky shows off it’s magnificent sunset, skiing down with headlamps on. In the summer they mountain bike through ridiculously difficult mountain terrain, usually clocking something outrageous like 40 miles and 4K vert. It is amazing that they don’t get more hurt as they compete with one another in their speed both uphill and down, and show off their technical abilities. It is a spectacular site to watch the eighteen or so men ride in on their bikes at night with a blanket of black enveloping them. Baddy lives for these evenings that end with a meal, beer and lots of comradery. I sometimes wish that I could be a fly on the wall to watch the difference in Baddy’s character when he is with his friends, but than I think about it and realize that it’s probably best to let my ignorance stay blissful.
Watching Children Grow Into Daredevils
I too love these nights where I am alone with the boys and I don’t have to be in the kitchen cooking a large meal. Wednesdays are half day for them and we go skiing in the afternoons. I am very fortunate to have close friends whose boys are best friends with my boys. Mothers who are far better suited for boys than I am, teaching me how to efficiently train the children on the importance of staying safe and in control.
I was happy that this time there were no tears due to missing gear and commended the boys for packing their own gear into the car. They have learned not to rely upon muddled mommy. Usually I leave Tucker in school so that I can ski with the older boys without a little tank to adhere to, but yesterday I had to take him with us. He was tired and ready for a nap, not a good precursor to skiing, getting mad at me for no clear reason and telling me that “he feeled like throwing a pie at me”. I skied behind him protecting him from the big kids who were recklessly skiing amongst us. Luckily the other moms were there to once again bail me out and take care of Axel and Brev as I skied with Tucker. It’s a tall order to watch somebody else’s boy in the terrain park with jumps and ramps left over from the X-Games. The boys are getting higher and higher on the jumps and it’s difficult to watch without being terrified. We all have a silent agreement that we are entrusting our boys into each other’s care and that we need to be on it when skiing with them. I definitely need to update my first-aid instruction.
When I picked up the boys from school a smiling Brevitt came up to me informing me that he had gambled his shoelaces and green hat away. Not wanting to be an alarmist I put my arm around his shoulder and told him that he actually gambled my money away and that he would have to make it up to me … and not through gambling more.
There is such a fine line between teaching the children right and wrong and reprimanding them to the extent that they don’t want to share anything with me anymore. What am I going to do with my nine year old who already behaves like a teenager? I have numerous talks with him about how he should not be finishing all of the sodas that are left on the counter at dinner parties. He tells me that he is obsessed with his soda and has no control. He is a fraternity boy in the making.
I try to focus on the present and not dread the future of a beer drinking boy who is happiest when he is catching huge air. For now, I desperately hold on to the moments when he still cuddles with me in bed and sits in my lap at dinner parties.