Damage Done

My husband gave me a kick-scooter for my last birthday. No, it wasn’t a subtle hint that I should get more exercise….. uh, maybe…… but really, it was so I could keep up with Babyzilla, who’s a mad, mad scootin’ maven. He goes so fast on his little Razor, it literally scares me. There’s no way I could just walk after him and yell, “Slow down!” the way I see other moms doing it. Nope –I scoot after him as fast as my aging mommy-bod can go and yell, “Slow down!!”

I’m pretty sure I’m the only scootin’ mom in the neighborhood, quite possibly the whole county. Of course I absolutely require that Scooter Knievel wear a helmet, but I give myself a bye.

Recently Babyzilla asked me, “Mommy, why do I have to wear a helmet but you don’t?”

Why?  Because Mommy’s a mommy, which means she’s already brain-dead. A sidewalk thump on the noggin ain’t gonna make any difference at this point.

Now, go make Mommy a cosmo, kid, and stop thinking so much. You’re going to hurt yourself.

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