I used to say that my youngest son, who is now 17, would call me one day from a satellite phone on the top of some extremely high mountain to say, “Mom! I made it.” He was always just that kind of kid. He could be found jimmy rigging lines of thread from his second floor bedroom window to the fence in the backyard. He would string a little lego, which was shaped like a barrel and had a hole in the middle, through the thread before attaching both ends. He then proceeded to systematically test how much weight could be attached to the barrel by sending a luge down this thread. I am glad I caught him before he tested his zipline to see if the thread would support his weight, as I am certain this was the next trial.
Speaking of luging and catching him, one day I sat at the table in a room adjacent to where he and a good friend were playing. They were 4 at the time. At one point, I heard a loud bang, followed by cheers and giggles. My son and his friend had commandeered an under-the-bed storage container, emptied its contents, converted it into a sled. They then proceeded to luge down our very tall, 26-step staircase , from the second to first floor. The banging sound was them hitting a coat closet at the bottom of the stairs at full speed. The cheers and giggles were their triumphant glee as they rated each other’s landings.
This 17-year-old son of mine is a lot less reckless than he used to be (thank goodness). Still, we have had our share of broken bones, dinged-up cars and parts of tinkered things scattered all over our home. And I wouldn’t change a thing.
