The Climb

The other day we (meaning the Bank) needed to replace a communication radio on a tower. (Dang lightning storms.) As I watched a contractor gingerly climb a momentous pillar, it occurred to me that my son could perhaps put his wall and tree-climbing skills to use for this lucrative career in tower scaling. Then I slapped my forehead. How could his own mother suggest such a career? A career that could cause him to fall and suffer horrific injuries? Or worse??

No one tells you about the perpetual vortex of angst that motherhood reels you into. Perhaps my worries are irrational, but it simply can't be helped. It's innate. Or so I explain to my hubby when he's rolling his eyes and allaying a fear if a child hasn't made it home timely from some fracas, such as a birthday party.

Anyway, I had sort of a breakthrough in Kansas City at Worlds of Fun. First let me explain that Doug has brainwashed our kids into believing that they have a penchant for roller coasters. (For the longest time, they were on my side  of the fence.) Ugh.  So, after surviving "The Prowler," (which is merely fast) the Kramer's (sans Mom) insisted on riding THE MAMBA - doesn't this look ridiculous?

Well, how could I sit and watch, helplessly, while my husband and two children plunged to their death? I'd have to join them. We'd all die together.

As we inched up the rails, I asked myself, "what kind of parents are we?" And as we whirled down the incline (with head in hands and eyes closed), and kids screaming with joy, I had to admit, it was kind of fun. My hurl reflex was well within check. And it seemed within sixty seconds, we were safely on the ground, laughing. Nervously, albeit, and perhaps with a bit of relief, but laughing.

Anyway, the morale of the story is...I'm not really sure. I still worry about my kids. A lot. But perhaps I'll just try to ride the roller coasters with them when I sense a great amount of danger ahead. They'll love that.