Yesterday was a big day in our house.
No, I'm not talking about the large pile of poop we shoveled.
(Okay, it's "mulch" but it's high end mulch made out of human waste, so it's poop, people. Only the very best for our flower beds).
I'm talking about Paranoia Mom letting the youngest boy walk to his friend's house.
All. By. Himself.
(through the neighbour's yard and up two paths to Ella's house)
And THEN, PM let older boy and friend go down to the ravine to "hang out".
Like I said, big day.
I don't know why I'm so paranoid.
It might be the fact that I read way too many psychological thrillers about abduction and other icky happenings.
And watch the same sort of shows.
(Gorgeous George had to stage an intervention a few years ago when I was hooked on anything serial killer on A&E and then I would be up all night hearing people a) hiding in our attic (we didn't actually have an attic) or b) climbing in the kids' bedroom windows (which I had already checked on my pre-bedtime obsessive compulsive house check)
Maybe it's the times that Jeff Martin and I stole matches out of his mom's bedside table, when we were 6, and started the Terrace chapter of "The Fire Club" in the forest across the street. (President: Jeff; Official Extinguisher & Secretary: Me)
Or perhaps the time in grade 4 that Dominique Krause and I stole a pack of cigarettes from her parents and went over to Parkside School and smoked the whole thing and then I went home and barfed for about an hour.(sorry mom)
Or it could be any combination of those things.
Everyone made it back unabducted and relatively unscathed.
Lucas was sporting purple nailpolish when he arrived home, but I think that's fodder for another day.