This unseasonable weather couldn’t have come at a better time for my boys. We had to get them outside before someone got seriously injured. Their newfound love of professional wrestling seems harmless enough. They throw fake punches and kicks and put on a pretty good show without anyone actually getting hurt – until one of them actually gets hurt.
It never fails. Someone accidentally lands a punch and all heck breaks loose. I feel like a bouncer at a biker bar most of the time, as I am constantly pulling one kid off of another when their tempers flare.
Getting them outside would be good. Our yard is plenty big, so they could all have plenty of space and no one would have to touch anyone else. We spent plenty of time outside this weekend. And, as I suspected, the violence dissipated.
Then, the boys wanted to play football. I was pleased to play anything besides wrestling. I would be all-time quarterback. It was Cooper vs. Callum and Clane would just jump in whenever he felt like it.
Cooper is a pretty good receiver and Callum is more of a straight-ahead runner. We traded several touchdowns without incident. Then, at one point, Clane ended up in the wrong place at the wrong time.
Callum, who is one growth spurt away from wearing my pants, broke free and headed for the end zone. Clane was in his path. An eighteen-wheeler could change direction more easily than Callum. Clane was basically reduced to a grease spot in our yard.
Cooper, who was already sore about giving up a touchdown, came to Clane’s defense. Before I knew it, all three boys were stuck together with fingernails and teeth, in a ruckus worse than any dog fight I have ever seen. I had to carry Cady to safety before I could jump in and start separating them. I could tell by the look in her eyes that she was a split second away from peeling off her shirt and entering the fray.
I broke it up and told them if it happened again we would go back inside. To make a long story short, seconds later, we were headed back inside.
So, without cabin-fever to blame, I am desperately searching for excuses for my boys’ behavior other than poor fathering. Global warming, perhaps?