Sunny with a chance of drama

There’s really nothing better than 70 degree weather on Thanksgiving. Forget that packing heavy coats takes up too much room and that we always seem to lose at least one mitten and that there is no end to blowing snotty noses when it’s the typical, turkey-day forecast. I simply hate to be cold. But the weather was no issue this Thanksgiving holiday. It was beautiful and sunny and perfect for a weekend outdoors.

The boys were packed and ready to leave by dawn. Nothing could contain their excitement about playing ball with their cousins, taking rides on Uncle Glendon’s barrel train, and the anticipation of spending the next three days at Granma and Granddaddy’s. From trampolines and tire swings to nature hikes and mud pies, there’s nothing these two boys enjoy more than the warm sun, a cool breeze and a chance to embark on a new adventure with their friends.

We spent Thanksgiving day at Mamaw and Papaw’s with the other 27-grands and 18-great-grandkids. The boys never seem to get enough of the creek and the milk barn and the newly-discovered rows of round bales they spent hours jumping over and across, and unfortunately falling through.

It seemed like a fun game. The older cousins were really good at it, and even Cooper was managing to make it across, despite my gasp at his every leap. I wanted to object, and in fact I tried, but it’s no fun being the overprotective, scaredy-mom who puts a damper on all the fun, new games. So I acquiesced…and the drama ensued.

It’s certainly no secret that if ever there’s an inch to be given, Brisco will find it, and find it he did…quite literally, between two, 6-foot hay bales, with his size eleven feet. It was quite a shock, seeing him leap from mound to mound, only to fall just short of the other side, his body sliding down the rounded edge, arms over his head, flailing about for something to hold on to. It was at precisely that moment that he panicked.

The boy was fine, safely suspended between two bundles of hay. But he certainly couldn’t be convinced of that fact. I, of course, knew just how he was feeling. Panicking is usually my job. I’m good at it, and it comes naturally where my kids are concerned. So when Brisco started screaming and kicking and crying real tears, I could empathize. “I can’t move! I can’t get out! Mom! Help me! I’m stuck! Come get me! Please, Mama! Where are you?!” On and on he went.

Squealing. Like a little girl.

If I hadn’t been able to see that he was safe, I’d have thought surely he was being eaten by a starving, mad cow. But he wasn’t. He was only locked in place, arms strapped to his sides, unable to wiggle free from two gigantic bales of hay. Must have been 12 seconds of pure torture for the poor boy to have been held in one place for so long.

I rescued him from his itchy strait jacket, scolding and cuddling him at the same time. But apparently this trauma would only last about a minute and a half before he wiggled out of my over-protective grasp and was off petting calves, pitching gourds and laughing and playing with baby Jenna.

It seems no matter where we travel or what the occasion, there’s always an adventure that lies in store. It’s fun and crazy and hilarious and maddening all at the same time. Most days I can’t even imagine what I did with all my time before these two little tornadoes came along. But one thing’s for sure: day or night, rain or shine, life with these boys is always sunny…with a chance of drama.

And that’s All in a day’s work!