This, friends, is a RipStick. A Ripstick is a two-wheeled skateboard, on casters. You can zoom down hills, take radically sharp turns, and once you've watched the instructional DVD, you can actually ride it uphill, from a dead stop.
PS: Chris, if you're reading this, go away, because this is what you're getting for your 30th birthday next month. Go on, scoot.
At Christmas time, these were only available through the website and Sharper Image. Auntie sent us one all the way from the US of A, and 2of3, well, he's got his daddy's perfect skin and his momma's coordination. For those of you who have never seen me try to take more than 3 steps, that would be none. In fact, I have fallen over while propped up against something, dead sober and standing perfectly still. Someday, if you're very nice, I'll tell you that story.
So, the Ripstick, by default and the laws of gravity, came to be solely 1of3's possession. Every sunny day, or, I should say, both sunny days since Christmas, he has been outside trying to ride this thing. I'll give the kid credit; he learned fast. He kind of had to, since his old skateboard literally disintigrated in the rain and his bike is, well, um, it's in his godfather's garage still. In DENVER. Because I am the shittest mother alive, that's why.
Needless to say, come summer-time, he was dazzling all the ladiez in the 'hood and scaring all the mommas out of their socks. Last week, he went outside with his Ripstick, and one of the neighborhood kids was all, "OOOOoooh!, Whaaat's thaaaat?" and he was all, "Yeah, whatever, it's my Ripstick. It's pretty much my favorite skateboard." The next day, that kid owned one.
The next day, that kids sister did, too.
The next day, every kid on my block (and there are a fuckload of kids on my block) had a shiny new Ripstick. You're welcome. Every kid, that is, except my little 2of3. But that didn't stop him, oh no. He begged, borrowed and stole and now he too is tearing it up down my street whenever the older kids see fit to share with him (usually right about the time I see fit to bake brownies, coincidentally enough.) Seriously, when they're all whizzing down our road at the same time, it sounds exactly like Armageddon out front on my cobblestone streets. Like a bunch of ziity, short, smelly goth horsemen skating in.
Much to my shock, my boys haven't taken too many diggers on this thing. It's so low to the ground and so swervy that you just just step right off it when you're about to biff it. Unless you don't. 2of3 fell, and fell hard. He came running in the house, SCREAMING, blood shooting out of his elbow.
"MAAAAWM! I-I-I-I-I-I FELL!!!!! *squirt squirt* I start cleaning him up.
" *sniffle sniffle* Mom, Austin totally crashed into me ON PURPOSE and made me fall!" No, no he didn't. He's your friend. "No, it was TOTALLY ON PURPOSE! He doesn't like me because I'm only EIGHT. *sniffle snort* " 2of3, I seriously doubt that. Tell me everything that happened, from the beginning. " *deep breath in* Well, we were on the Ripsticks playing Collision and tha...." *giggle* Um, you were playing Collision? "Y-eh-eh-eh-es. *whimper* " As in, to-crash-into-something Collision? "Uh huh" Dude, um, what did you expect to...oh, nevermind.
He totally tore his elbow wide open. The next day, he fell and caught himself with the same elbow. Brilliant, that one. And then 1of3 took a good fall and scraped up his arm. And then lost it and sprained his wrist.
(No chance Ripstick is going to google this and send me a free one for my kid now, is there? Crap.)
I told you all of that to tell you this:
...to be continued. Yes, I suck, thankyouverymuch.
(Just kidding. Well, I changed my mind, at least. This is why I publish at one in the morning.)
Today, my kids went to Crash Crawly's with the neighbors. Which is, apparently, aptly named:
Impressive, no? Holy Fight Club, Batman. That should be fully swollen by morning, if I'm guessing right. So, to recap, my kids in the past month have sustained:
- One black eye
- Two open elbows
- Several minor scrapes and cuts
- A broken foot
- A sprained ankle
The fact that I still maintain full custody of these children is proof alone of the existence of God, and not just that Flying Spaghetti Monster one. Over dinner, once the tears subsided and the stories began, I got the recap:
So, mom, this girl was totally climbing UP the slide even though there is a great big sign that said 'Please Do Not Climb Up the Slides', and it was the really fastest slide, and I was coming down and her elbow was right in the way of my face! Oh, no, did you duck? I tried to, Mawm, but she was right in my way! And then, and then, she tried to LIE her way out of trouble, but she got in trouble anyway. And I got a blue raspberry slushie and a ticket for VALID FREE ADMISSION next time. Fitting. Huh? Well, you got a blue raspberry slushie for a blue and raspberry black eye. *gigglegiggle* You're right! *touches swollen face* Yeah, I really like the design, but it's just so gross!
He really likes the DESIGN of his golf-ball BLACK EYE. He also reads encyclopedias. For fun. He's spent all day estimating rates of swelling vs. ice applied, calculating blood flow at differing pillow elevations, and eating bubble gum.
And we, well, we may never actually leave the house again without full body armour. Unless, of course, we had a new Ripstick to soften the blow.