Brogan and the Drill

So the other day I hear Brogan tell me “I need to change the batteries,” referring to a toy car he was holding. It was obvious he was looking for something to aide him in the task as he wandered through the living room, and then went up stairs. His search was actually keeping him occupied, so I let him be. Fast forward five minutes and I hear him coming down the stairs, but at a slower pace than normal and there was something clanking with each step. I come out of my kitchen to find my child walking down the stairs with a 5-pound Hitachi corded drill with a drill bit attached. What was clanking? That’d be the cord, tangled up in his feet. Now my son has many gifts, but foot coordination is not one of them. This kid falls all the time! He trips when he’s walking freely and the ground is flat. He’s taken two tumbles all the way down the stairs already, skinned his knees countless times and has sported 3 black eyes. Since he’s been walking, I’ve never seen his shins bruise-free. This kid is clumsy! So when I saw him living out his bright idea to change the batteries with a 9-amp drill, I knew we had narrowly averted total catastrophe.

(Note – The drill pictured is not shown with a drill bit, picture a two-inch sharp Phillip’s head protruding from this bad boy!)

But that’s life with boys, or so I’ve come to realize. It is not for the faint of heart! I try to find comfort in the adage that boys are harder than girls when they’re little, but easier when they are teenagers. Man I hope this is true. Although given my son’s fearless nature, I’m not certain that him behind the wheel will be giving me warm and fuzzies either. Yes, I think having boys may drive me crazy or give me heart failure before it’s all said and done.