Scooter, Shmooter.

We broke the scooter. 

And I use that pronoun very, very loosely.

If you’ve seen Tucker scooting around town, school, church, or our general community, then I’m sure you are not surprised. 

I was not surprised.  Except to say that it’s a little alarming to see broken metal. 

That’s the speed and velocity with which my son travels.  Enough to twist, break, and sever metal.

When I took it back to the medical supply warehouse, the woman behind the counter said, “Well.  It certainly wasn’t this way when you got it.”

I laughed out loud.

Um, no.  No, it sure was not. 

I once heard a young mom say, “I do not allow these things.  They happen anyway.” 

Nine more days of this.  Nine.  That’s less than ten.