Me so boring!

The boys finished their bmx races in great form, but in last place, so we are high tailing it home a little early. There were a few accidents today, and the ambulance came twice. Never a dull moment.
I had a go of bmxing once, a few years ago. I came off flying and landed on my left knee, and it still occasionally hurts me. Now I just watch, and hope, fingers crossed, that the boys a) never get seriously hurt, and b) never lose their nerve like I have.
I don’t like heights. I was never really bothered by being high until fairly recently, i.e. the latter 8 years of my just-about-36. That is dead on to the birth of the firstborn, and is probably not a coincidence. I assume it’s an evolutionary tactic of some sort. So I hate being up high, which includes rock climbing at the local community centre (I nearly started crying when I got to the top and had to gracefully decamp on one of those windy straps), being in a car on a narrow, windy and HIGH road (did cry and may or may not have been almost acreaming), and also swinging. Yes, that’s right, swinging. As in, on a garden swing, child’s yard swing, tyre swing, etc. In short, almost anything that gets me off the ground. Oh, puh-lease! Of course, roller coasters are out of the question, and ferris wheels are just balls of death in tandem.
This year at Disneyland, the Cars ride was a big hit – because it’s awesome! – but it was a bit scary this time, whereas when we went on it 2+ years ago, I don’t think that it was. Also the Pirates of The Carribean, Star Wars and whatever other rides I went on were also questionable for me in parts. Good grief, I’m an old lady! But that means a veritable cache of handbags, so I’m ok with that.
But the boys, the boys! They are fearless, and I encourage them to do the jumps, and go faster, and build scary shit around the backyard. And they are always disappointed when I decline a turn, but I can’t tell them that I’m scared because I don’t want them to be as well. For now I will spin white lies about organising my handbags.


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