Little Red Sneakers

Little Red Sneakers

…he better NEVER. Oh wait. He already has.

I was an avid Calvin & Hobbes reader as a kid.  I loved him.  I loved that he did things I would never dare (I was much more like his little not-so-girlfriend Susie Derkins).  I kind of had a sick admiration for the little guy and always found myself rooting for him and his furry partner in crime.  Fast forward 14+ years.  I have acquired 1 Calvin, 1 Hobbes (in monkey form rather than tiger), and one splitting headache.

Irony is a twisted sister, ain’t she?  Instead of rooting for the underdog, er… underkid . I root for bedtime.  Don’t get me wrong!  The crazy little antics pulled in the comics are fine & dandy… but you know what they say: “It’s all fun and games ’til someone gets hurt.”  And folks, I don’t know about you… but ER bills are pretty steep.  Coincidentally, so is the pitch of the roof of our house.  I’m not looking to plunge off into anymore hospital bills (I just got that kid paid off!!) any more than I want Gabe to flip over backwards off of an inanimate object (not like it hasn’t been done already.  stupid slide).  And as scared and not-at-all dare-devilish as Gabe was in recent history, he is certainly making up for that by leaping off of ER’YTHING lately.  EVERYTHING.  My feet have never moved with lightening the way they have as of late.  I’m pretty sure there is a race being run between my heart and my tootsies, guys.  And the way it looks, my heart is winning.  Good as that sounds… believe me.  It ain’t.

Sometimes I sit back fall back in my seat and just watch him.  Trying to catch my breath.  And I think to myself, “Sweet Jesus.. I’ve given birth to Calvin.”  I know that, of course, this is not the case.  Or that what I’m telling myself, anyway.  I have given birth to a maniac, however.  That much is fact.  I’d be lying if I said I didn’t kind of love it though.  Sometimes.

Sometimes enough is enough.  Like, seriously.  ENOUGH.  I have looked for that off button a million times over.  And believe you me, when I get up to those pearly gates, whoever manufactured Gabe is going to have a serious come to Jesus meeting.  ‘Cause really?  Way to drop the ball on that one.  Even in his sleep Gabe’s a one-man whirlwind.  I pray nightly that I don’t have a little Houdini on my hands, although I think that ship has already sailed.

I applaud the parents in the comic strip.  Crazy?  Eh.. yeah.  But I’m only being honest.  And just as they love their maniacal little astronaut, pirate, and, yes, even Stupendous Man, I sure do adore my little “punkin” lovin’, pizza eatin’, Matman fan.  Pointy hair, red shoes, and all.

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