Places you shouldn't hang from

Evan and I visited Chipp-A-Waters Park today. It's one of the smaller Mt Pleasant parks, but since Island Park (our fave) is overrun by SummerFest (carnies and other assorted local characters), I decided to move our outdoor excursion this afternoon.

The play structure at Chipp-A-Waters is fine. Evan had a good time climbing, saying "Mama, GO!," collecting sticks, and dragging his feet in the dirt. I had a good time marveling at the pre-teen boys hanging like drunken monkeys off places people aren't supposed to hang from on the play structure. I had a scary time thinking, "In twelve short years, I will have one of you."

I know I am the mother of sons; and yes, I do want to parent sons. But, sometimes, the thought of parenting sons scares the effin' crap out of me. Why? Well, at about age 12-14, when boys' leg hair starts growing in, and their voices begin to slide up and down, they become not quite human. They start to do things like have spitting fights with their cousins at the family reunion; and they invite their littler cousins to get "ejaculated" from the "penis slide" (the tube shaped slide, which, in reality, looks more like a big hollow drinking straw-- not a penis); and then they call each other names like "Michael-Jackson-wannabe," and yell, "Hey, you LOVE Michael Jackson!"

Awful.

Someone tell me these boys will grow into young men? Please?