There is a serious disconnect between my brain and my mouth sometimes.
The other day I took the kids to a local thrift store. I was picking up some chairs and told them that if they were good, they could pick out one item for themselves.
“Anything?” asked a wide-eyed Peter.
“Well, sure,” I said without considering it too much.
The boys took off for the second floor of the store. What on earth could they think they want up there? There’s just clothing and sporting goods upstairs. All the toys and books are on the first floor.
Soon the boys were back with two pairs of rollerblades.
Oh. THAT’S what’s upstairs. Got it.
The skates were a little big, but the boys didn’t care. And I foolishly held up my end of the deal and let them purchase the skates. I considered briefly if $4 worth of skates and upholding a promise was really worth multiple broken bones.
But, hey. They play hockey. This will be fine. Right?
After getting the skates, I went out and got them each a set of elbow, knee, and wrist pads. They were informed that if they ever try to wear their skates without the pads and a helmet, the skates will die an untimely death in the trash bin.
The boys got suited up and I took them to an empty school parking lot to try out the skates.
“Let’s find a big hill!” shouted Peter.
And that’s when I felt a new patch of grey hair emerge on my head.