T informs me: I’m going to think up a way to go snow-diving. Put skis on your shoes, and then you can lay down on your shoes and go diving down the mountain. Wouldn’t that be silly? It’s only going to be dangerous; we’d need to wear a helmet.
Me, a bit later, after he tells me he and N are going to go skydiving when he’s 18 and “N will be strapped to me!”: I won’t let you do that.
T: NO! When I’m 18 I’ll do that!
Somehow 18 is the magic age at which I will no longer have any control. Who knew? (Actually, from what I hear about the teenage years, I’ll be lucky to have any control long before then, but hey…)
My husband’s comment: “forget sports like basketball and baseball. T is going to snowboard, ski, skateboard and mountain bike.” I fear that he’s right….
