“On your mark!  Get set!  GO!”

Two monkeys tear across the yard.  The youngest is slow on the start but has longer legs.  They’re neck in neck.    They’re tied down the stretch.  The oldest resists the urge to close-line his brother.  They’re running, running . . . right into . . .


CRASH!  They  topple to the ground mere inches from my hydrangeas.

“Guys!  You got to watch where you’re going.  There are rocks over there and . . . ”  I know it’s futile before I even stop talking.  I don’t know why I even waste the oxygen.

“MOM!  Wasn’t that AWESOME?” The six-year-old leaps up and brushes himself off.

The youngest pops up in agreement.  “Look!  Highlights!”

The two monkeys proceed to re-enact the last few steps of the race in slow motion.  They slowly stumble forward with ESPN worthy looks on their faces.  They grunt and grimace as they fall to the ground one inch at a time.  The oldest brushes the hydrangeas in dramatic fashion before collapsing at the finish line.

I laugh.  Oh, the agony of defeat!

Monkey Race

Image Courtesy of www.flickr.com