Guns

I went to awaken my 9yo up this morning for an early-morning (not that early…8 o’clock) trip to the gym. We had discussed it the night before (not really “discussed” it; I told him we were going). Despite the heads-up, I knew there was a great possibility of weeping and gnashing of teeth about going.

He was already up and playing with Legos, so I assumed that half the battle was over; I thought this would be an easy sell.

I knocked on the door and opened it slowly. Upon seeing me in my gym clothes, he threw back his head and rolled his eyes. “Ahhh! Are we going to the gym this morning?”

Well, at this point I really began to feel terrible for my neglected children.  When they are at the gym, I force them to shoot baskets, run around the gym, and play the Wii &/or Xbox, ping-pong, pop-a-shot, and carpet ball…it’s awful. Someone should probably turn me in to the authorities.

“Yes, we are,” I said cheerfully. “Thanks for asking!”

“Do we HAVE to?”

Really, Dude? You’re asking this? “Yes, we HAVE to go.”

“Why?!?”

“Because,” I said, kneeling down next to him and flexing my arm. “Because how do you get guns like these from sitting around and NOT going to the gym?”

He reached up and touched my arm. Attempting to zing me, he said, “Yeah, well I don’t even feel anything.”

To which I replied, “Then we’d better get to the gym.”

Touche...