For Christmas my 11 y/o received an airsoft gun, a bow and arrow set, a survival knife, and a guitar. The first thing that boy did was to go out into the front yard and use all the ammunition he had to shoot many tiny holes into the guitar box. Then, he took his bow and arrows outside to shoot them as well (Yes, his first few shots were at the box but then testosterone took over, warping his brain, and he shot an arrow directly above himself into the sky...and watched it coming back to earth...in his general direction. Yes, I opened the window and informed him that that was perhaps the most foolish thing I had ever seen and that if he did it again that I would be forced to confiscate the weaponry.). The knife was examined carefully, used on some branches, and now clings, proudly, to the side of his jeans. After all of this the boy finally sat down to play his guitar. He loves his guitar but he needed to get out the destructive, or protective, or whatever you call it, done with before he could sit down and be creative and quiet.
The incident that was the impetus for this post happened this morning. I had locked myself in the bathroom so that I could have a mostly uninterrupted conversation with my husband on the phone (Listen, it is the only room in the house with a lock on the door and 2 y/o will not leave me alone on the phone. He yells into the receiver the whole time about wanting to talk.). All mothers know that when you are on the phone is when the real ruckus begins. There was hooting and hollering, crashing and banging, caterwauling and wild rumpuses. In the midst of the chaos, while also listening as attentively as I could to my husband, I heard my 6 y/o yell out to my 9 y/o, "Get on the ground with your hands behind your back!" We have obviously been watching too much Cops. I told my husband who laughed the proud dad laugh. And, then I had yet another thing to add to my list of things that my sons do that I never did and never thought of doing.