You Thought I was Kidding!

I feel the need to start by saying that my children are brilliant, talented, and wonderful. They have gifts that I never had, they have hearts as big as the outdoors, and they are destined for wonderful things in whatever they choose to do. I believe that with my whole heart. Most of the time.

Having said that, I want to say that there are times when they, individually or together, decide to prove that we are living in a sitcom.

Today, as we were getting ready to go on a bike ride, Jake found a pair of toy handcuffs in a corner of the garage. Do not ask me why we had a pair of toy handcuffs in the garage, I don't know. All I know is that they were there, Jake was there, and they were drawn to each other like a moth to a flame. If handcuffs were able to move on their own, the boy and the toy would have seemed very natural running toward each other in slow motion across a flower covered prairie. Jake holds them up to me to ask where they came from.
"They are yours."
"No they're not."
"You've had them for years."
"Not these."
"They are yours."
"I'm sure they aren't mine."
"They look like the ones you've had for years."
"No they're not. See." CLICK


Now I ask you....Click? Seriously?
Then he says, "See! I can take mine right off and these are stuck."
I tell you, I have never been so proud. Nothing like going all out to prove a point. If he had the means I am sure he would have clicked these on himself while shut up in a steamer trunk dangling over a tank filled with hungry sharks! He wanted to prove that these, indeed, were not his.
Mission accomplished!

In addition to proving that these were not his, he managed to prove that his father could not have been a prison escapee, a locksmith, or a magician. These "toy" metal handcuffs and their toy release mechanism would not let go of my temporarily logic-impaired son. As I am firing up the acetylene torch and making the final adjustments on my welding helmet Jake runs into the house. A few minutes later he comes out, handcuffs IN hand instead of ON hand and he is twirling the key on his finger. Turns out the key to his other handcuffs fits into these. He is free, we are ready to go on our bike ride.

The ride, wonderful...the day, great...the weather, beautiful...all is right with the world.

These are the kinds of things that keep life interesting here on our own version of a sitcom. He gave me permission to write about it. I hope he doesn't regret that decision later on. And I hope, should he have a son, he will remember this episode when he tries to prove to him that the bench was just painted by sitting on it.