Big Boys

Thing Two inadvertently crashed into Sean, his soccer coach, the other day while racing a friend and not looking where he was going.  Sean told me about this because he was concerned about Thing Two's head, but my first reaction (how bad of a mom am I?) was to ask if Sean was okay!  He's not a particularly big guy, and Thing Two is about 75 pounds of very dense bone and muscle: not at all what I would want ramming me at speed.  Ouch. 

Thing One had his ten-year well visit this week, and he's now up to 90 pounds, which is frightening. I should add that neither child has an ounce of fat on him and both sink like rocks in the pool: they are just solid walls of boy.  And if those online calculators that predict eventual adult height from boys' heights at age two plus their parents' heights are to be believed, Thing One should top out at 6'4" or so and Thing Two won't be far behind.  Ye gods and little chickens.  Considering how much they eat and how big they are already, my grocery bills will be absolutely through the roof in a few years.

Tonight, I watched Thing Two gallantly shepherd another, much smaller friend through the parking lot at the gym, one arm thrown protectively around her shoulders.  It was very cute, although I knew better than to say that to him.  I was glad to see that he is capable of putting his size to good use when he's actually paying attention to his surroundings: the friend came off a lot better than the soccer coach from their respective encounters with him.  With great size comes great responsibility, or something like that.  A lesson for both of my boys to learn sooner rather than later!