It’s a bird... it’s a plane...

Those of you who know my family well know what a struggle I've had with my now 5-year-old son, Sam. I mean this kid really puts me through the ringer. I could dedicate a whole site just to him and his exploits and document the daily struggle I face to refrain from throwing him out the window teach him to be a productive member of society. This summer has been particularly difficult. I have found myself really having to focus on remembering what a real treasure he really and truly is. (I had to look especially hard today.)

Thus we come to today's post.

This was one I wrote on my prior blog a couple of years ago. Sam was 3 at the time. Those of you who've read it will live through it again I'm sure. For those of you who haven't, here you go...another reason why I love my ridiculously difficult son.

It's a bird... it's a plane...
Wednesday, October 3rd, 2007

So my little boy Sam (a.k.a Destructo Boy, the Human Cyclone, Terror-of-the-Southern-Lands-and-all-things-Poultry) has turned over a new leaf. Seemingly. I'm not sure I truly believe it yet. Those of you familiar with the Era-of-the-Eggs can understand my reservations, I'm sure.

We've survived the Egg Era, Pirate Hell, and the "Call me Pablo, Tyrone" phase. Oompa loompas have stopped screeching parenting insults my way, and Lightning McQueen has stopped racing across my pretty leather furniture. No more noodle towers, Cheerio explosions, blackberry tracks, bleach stains, flour showers, and surprisingly, 12-packs of toilet paper last more than an hour.

This has all been replaced, we think. And with what? Cue the trumpet fanfare...now the drum roll...cap it with a cymbal clash... it's SUPERSAM TO THE RESCUE!!! Can it be? Is it true? Has my little deviant finally decided to renounce his terroristic tendencies in favor of....gulp.....the GOOD OF MANKIND?

Yes, ladies and gents. I wake every morning to find he's already up and dressed in his super suit. He zooms around the house righting wrongs, protecting the innocent. His muscles flex as he lifts heavy fallen objects. He leaps tall pillows in a single bound, all the while his theme music is playing over and over on the DVD player.

What, ladies and gentleman, would I do without this little man of steel? Why just today I was moping around after a long restless night nursing bruised feelings, when in flies Super Sam. He takes a long look at me, rips off his secret identity (it's his favorite firetruck shirt and some glasses with the lenses poked out. He won't let me wash it right now...) and while kissing me on the cheek whispers " but I love you, Mom."

What can I say... my hero.