And that's exactly why my kids are now in Sword Camp. Let that be a lesson out there to you ladies....listen to your husbands.
Yeah, you read that right, Sword Camp. My kids are in Sword Camp. Remember how much fun we all had when they were at Nunchuck Camp over Spring Break? It's like that but with big swords.
|Look ma! Free tee-shirts!|
I've had to repeat that several times because I can't quite process it. Swinging swords around, clobbering each other. We're actually spending money on teaching our kids how to kill each other with swords. Nice.
|Because one sword is never enough.|
It's like natural selection at its best. I feel like I'm Darwinizing my own children. And because it's a camp, and at camp kids get free things, they are now the proud owners of two swords. Each.
They each have two swords. Oh-My-God-Un-fucking-Believable.
One's made out of bamboo all thatched together and the other one's made out of some random hardwood. The kids tell me the bamboo sword hurts "way worse" than the other one. I didn't ask how they found that out and I'm not going to either. There are some things a mom just doesn't want to know.
I walked in early on a class one day and they were swinging around metal swords. Real metal swords. Oh-My-God-Un-fucking-Believable. I almost passed out.
Like light sabers. But not.
Alex sees me and is all, "HI MOM! Look what I'm doing!" All proud and happy. He's waving his hand around and here's a key bit of information: he forgot he had a real metal sword in his hand, so he was waving that around also. I let out an "Oh Shit" and dove on him like I was at the Who concert, trying to stop that sword from swinging. I almost got gutted like fish in the process.
He was beaming. Waving that big metal sword around, proud as anything.
I think I lost a little bit of my life in that moment. And I almost pissed myself.
After that, I made a decision: I don't watch.
I have learned from their Nunchuck Camp and this time around, the swords stay in the car. There will be no sword fights over summer break in the house. There will be no beating the shit out of the windows, sofas, chairs, each other. No, none of that. I don't know how I'd explain to the Emergency Department that they got pissed and had a sword fight in the living room. I'm sure it would garner, at minimum, a Social Services Consult and I have to tell you, I don't have the intestinal fortitude for that right now.
So I'm guessing it would surprise no one that while I was peeing, they kids had a sword fight in the garage.
No, it really didn't surprise me either.