Scooter

My little lady. Oh, my little lady. You are going to be the death of your father and I. You and your adventurous little don't care about getting hurt attitude. I see loads and loads of medical bills in our future with you.

You may remember a while back I posted about how little Stella is a tad bit like me. Well this weekend she showed us once again how history is repeating itself. When I was 5 or so- I'm not really sure on the exact age, I just know that I was in kindergarten- I decided to borrow my brother Kevin's scooter and walk my friend Stacy home. My friend Stacy that lived at the very top of the hill in our apartment complex. A very steep hill. I knew enough in my little 5 year old brain that I wasn't allowed to walk Stacy all the way home, but halfway up the hill was OK. I then decided that it was a brilliant idea to ride the scooter down the hill back home. Well, instead of riding it home, I rode it to the bottom of the hill, hit a patch of sand, skidded to a halt and crashed my head on the curb. My mom then drove me the 30 minutes to the hospital (why no ambulance mom?) where I stayed in intensive care for 3 days. I thought the whole hospital experience was great- people sent me loads of presents so it was like Christmas. I didn't see the whole experience as a scary adventure, the way I'm sure my mom and dad saw it. I was just a silly little kid.

Where am I going with this story? Well this weekend, my little lady fell in love with a scooter while camping with friends and I got a glimpse of my parent's side of the adventure. She then decided that going down a really steep hill was a wonderful idea because a certain daddy rode a certain scooter down a certain hill more that a few times. Thankfully she fell at the very tip top of the hill (as I was chasing her down) and her adventure was not going to happen. Did she try again? Of course. Will she ever be getting a scooter of her own? No way.