tobogganing

Remember how when we were kids and nothing was scary? How we'd go to the snow hill and actually aim for the biggest bump on the hill, how we'd ride our bikes up and down anything, how we'd climb any old tree?

I think we sort of get smart and grow out of that. Either that or we sort of lose our sense of adventure. I'm like that. Now I worry more about hurting something than I do about looking brave.

My kids, however, are still fearless.

We took them to the dump hill on the weekend to toboggan. I went down once, on an inner tube, after seeing that it didn't really slide all that fast. I took the baby. There's no way God would let me tip out of the tube with a baby on board - would he? I figured I was safe. It's the same reasoning I use when I huck a bean bag (hypothetically) at Steven and then quickly hold the baby on my lap blocking as much of me as I can. He wouldn't risk the baby - would he?

There was no way I was going down that hill on that dinky little toboggan or the crazy carpet. I may have to work up to it before my kids think I'm a wuss.

Tennyson was eager to go down the hill, from the top, on his own, on the toboggan. I hesitated, then shrugged and gave him a push.

I'm an excellent mother.

Of course he rolled a few times at the bottom and then lay there, his feet tangled under the toboggan's curve. I sat at the top and giggled just a little as I yelled down to see if he was okay. Jordan ran over to check on him and then hollers at me, from the bottom of the hill, as loud as she could "It's all your fault Mommy!" You should have heard her tone. It'd make a nun proud. It made me laugh just a little.

Jordan slid down the hill a dozen times on the crazy carpet laying on her stomach and going head first. That's my girl.

I wonder, had she had a mishap, whether it would have been my fault. Probably.