We are in Texas with Greg’s family for Thanksgiving. And after only a few short hours, the stories of the “White Tornado” have begun. I thought they were entertaining a few years ago. Maybe even harmless tales of childhood mischief that could not be contained. Like the time the White Tornado, at the age of 2, unlocked the back door, left the house in a diaper and began to explore the neighborhood (that bordered a very busy street) at 7:00 at night. He was found 2 blocks from home, naked (b/c the diaper was dirty and obviously needed to be taken off) by his dad driving home from work. Or the time his mom looked up to see her 5 year old son and his friend on the ledge of a two story house in Mexico, with an 16 month old White Tornado shuffling along right behind them. B/c obviously there are no screens on windows in Mexico City to prevent such things. Enter story of the White Tornado’s cousin that actually fell from a second story window doing the same thing. Or the time an 18 month old White Tornado dove in a swimming pool, unnoticed for minutes and unable to swim. He was found at the bottom of the pool. Lifeless. He was given CPR by his mother and God-father and rushed to the nearest hospital, hours away, where he regained consciousness the next morning. Or the time he was lost at Disneyland. Oh, and Disneyworld also. And countless other places.
Each of these stories now, as a mother, send chills up my spine. They physically make me sick to my stomach. For so many reasons. But mainly b/c I love that White Tornado and shutter at the thought of life without him….and I am raising his son.
Ben….if you EVER SO MUCH AS THINK about sneeking out of the house, climbing on anything higher than your toes, go near water or get out of my sight….I will tan your hide so….you NEVER forget it. (just in case Ben reads my blog).