Sunday, May 27, 2012
First, he had to shovel dirt faster than I shoveled. (Somewhat amusing.) Then he had to crash his wheelbarrow into my wheelbarrow and try to knock it over. (I must admit I enjoyed this for a while.) But then he had to overhand fling the sledgehammer just to see how far he could fling it. And then...well suffice it to say I might be too old now to apprentice Thor's little brother in landscape design.
It's not just yard-work though. You should see the look in his eyes during anything physical now. I remember this high energy period in my own life. I know his body is constantly revving but I swear his brain contains it's own starter pistol, and some days, not much else.
Here's the worst part though, the part that really irks me. After all that manual labour, he wanted to play ball, go for a bike-ride and shoot hoops. Meanwhile, my hands were already so stiff from hammering rebar that I could barely fasten the button on my pants.
Yup. It's official. I'm basically 90 years old. And it's all his fault.