is causing me to lose my hair.
And it’s not because he thinks driving his dad’s tractor with a brand-new attached wood chipper is a race car. (I just don’t watch when he’s driving the tractor. Or when he is using the wood chipper.)
And it’s not because he has to half-stand to brake the tractor.
Though having a male youth in my home full of obsession with all things manly and dangerous minus manly wisdom and caution could be disturbing to some mothers, I just don’t think about it.
Really. I’m cool with it. Cool as a cucumber.
As. Long. As. I. Don’t. Think. About. It.
This is one of those parenting areas that I have happily and clearly left in Sid’s domain.
But still, as I first said, this darling boy is making me lose my hair. Literally. Just today, he says “Mom, I need one of your hairs for an experiment I’m doing with weather.”
Okay. I don’t ask for clarification or details. Because I learned a long time ago, when he was approximately 4 years old, that the workings of this male child’s brain is radically different from mine.
“The hair needs to be at least 8 inches long,” he continues.
Without question, I tilt my head toward him and let him take the hair from my head.