Today I realized something.
I have city kids.
Both my husband Adrain, and I, grew up out in the country. The smell of manure was as familiar as our own mother’s voices. (Okay maybe that was a bad example. But you get what I’m saying here.) Wide open spaces were the norm. Riding horses was the entertainment. Building a fort down at the creek, being gone all day long, catching fish (even occasionally starting our own fire and cooking the tiny perch or trout we caught) and riding bikes until dark was standard. Summer lasted for ages, apples came fresh off whatever tree we encountered, and fences were for climbing over, not keeping you out, because you knew everyone who owned the property anyway.
On this weekend, Adrain had just lost his sweet grandma to cancer, and we both wanted to head out to the country to spend a little time with her best friend, a precious lady our kids also call ‘grandma.’ She was there when Adrain was born, and he couldn’t wait to bring me to meet her when we first started dating. He grew up roaming her acreage, and knows it like the back of his hand, even now. Every time we take the hoodlums out there, they get a bit braver, venturing farther and farther into the ‘woods’ and exploring outbuildings, and climbing higher into her trees. Ava has fallen in love with multiple barn kitties (also on occasion bringing home a little ringworm from em). Today, Joe experienced his first electric fence ‘bite.’ Adrain reminded him what poison oak looked like, and we had a little chuckle, realizing that he wouldn’t naturally know all of those things, being raised in a nice, tidy city block.
We looked up and he was running through a next door field. You know.. with a bunch of bulls in it. Wearing red pants and a red shirt. I’m pretty sure my heart completely stopped for a minute while my man calmly told Joe to ‘get his hiney back over that fence right this minute.’ (And then, again calmly, explained the basics of not jumping live wires into pastures filled with bulls while wearing all red and how that could have ended really badly.) (Which of course, our little hoodlum also wouldn’t have necessarily known.) It was then that we realized we have city kids. That thought is a little funny to me… now. But it wasn’t very funny when I was visualizing the possibility of my baby boy being trampled by some startled and angry young bulls.
I guess in hindsight, the part that finally got me breathing normally again and eventually laughing again… was the fact that once he was safely back out, I recognized the fact that as he was running toward the bulls dressed all in red with his arms spread wide, he was also singing, ‘The Hills are Alive with the Sound of Music.’
Ah, being mother to a boy…. It’s one heart-stopping ride all. the. time.
And so on that note, I’d like to bid you, so long, farewell, auf wiedersehen, good bye.