This weekend while I was putting away baskets of laundry, the boys decided to try out a sport they believe they invented — sliding down the stairs in a laundry basket into a pile of pillows. I can hardly stand to watch, but saw enough to immediately insist that they put on bike helmets or stop immediately. They obliged and continued. Then I made the mistake of showing them what I thought was a safer version that I had perfected as a child — jumping down the stairs into a pile of pillows, using both walls as leverage so that the descent is really only about 1/2 a flight of stairs. Jude tried it and had so much fun, but decided to invent a more modern, horrific version that he named “fly and die.” He starts at the end of the upstairs hallway and flies over the entire flight of stairs and lands into the pile of pillows/couch cushions at the base of the stairs. He gets such a rush from it that he turns totally hyper. He admits to being addicted to it. Yesterday he was complaining that his foot hurt and I’m sure it was related to pressure from his multiple hard landings on the cushions so hopefully he got this out of his system and won’t grow up to be a base jumper.