My kids like doing a lot of things that I think seem less fun than beating myself over the head with a brick. I could make a list, but the thing that has been in front of my mind lately is this:
They wrestle all the time. ALL THE TIME. At home they will retire to Jack and Quinn’s bedroom and wrestle and throw things at each other. Or they will go to the basement and I will hear nothing but thumps and thuds and the occasional scream. Then, when Sam has soccer practices, Jack and Quinn will hurl each other to the ground and sit on each other and mash their faces into the grass and generally do all kinds of horrible things to each other, all while laughing hysterically. Bonus if there is a hill, so gravity can play a part.
I don’t get it.
Maybe that is because when I was a kid, my sister and her friends would wrestle me to the ground in a less even matching of skills. One memorable day, they tied me up in a vacuum cleaner cord, then dragged me up the stairs and threw me out on the back porch. In front of my mom. Who laughed.
Wrestling: not really my thing.
Regardless of my personal scars, it makes me so happy to watch them play this way. They end up in tears far less often than you would think and giggle and get more exercise than when they do almost anything else.
Sometimes I wonder what people think when they see them rolling around on the ground screaming and sitting on each others’ faces and stuff. Although probably people just ignore all of us except when they roll into someone. Which does happen occasionally.
The point of this whole post (other than to exercise my typing fingers) is so that next time my kids can’t seem to get along for more than 15 seconds and they’re all screaming at each other and I’m hiding from them under a blanket on the couch, I can look back at this and remember how much my kids love each other, how much they like each other, and how much fun they can have with just a patch of grass and their muscles.