running with scissors

'Running with scissors" is the name of my kiwi nephew's rock and roll band.

The ironic part is that there are days I feel like my father is just like a little kid running though the house with a pair of scissors.

And you know the end result can not be good.

He wants to express his independence and do things to make himself feel useful.

I can not say I blame him.

But folding clothes or stirring a muffin mix doesn't cut the mustard.

He wants to do 'guy's work"

Sadly, he is not steady on his feet and his eye-hand coordination is off.

My mother went out to do the grocery shopping. She was gone for about an hour and a half.

My mother does all her own yard work. She always has, even when we were kids. I think this is what keeps her in tip top shape.

My father spotted the wheel barrel in yard and decided he was going to "surprise her" when she got home by dumping the weeds in the back.

You can probably guess where this is going.

The wheel-barrel pulled him down the incline.

The few times that my mother has gone on a mini-vacation with her girl-friends I would always check up on my father.

I would joke with him and say, "one of these days I'm gonna find you under a pile of leaves"

Well this time it happened.

And he was a bloody mess.

Thankfully, he didn't hit his head or break anything.

His arm was bleeding pretty badly though. My mother bandaged him up.

I said to him the next day, "Jesus, Mary and Joseph.. you remind me of a little brat racing through the house with a frickin' pair of scissors! "

He gave a small chuckle and said, "I know"