Miss You in a Heartbeat

I am excited because today marks my 100^th post to this blog.  I couldn’t believe it myself, but I went back and checked in my archives, and sure enough there were 99 other posts.  I’m practically a pillar of the internet, now!  Take me away, and I’m sure the whole thing would come crashing down.

That being said, I don’t have an earth shattering post that I’ve been saving up for this grand occasion.  I’m simply going to reach back into our short history as parents and pull out a significant story to share with you.  This could be titled That Time We Lost Griffin.  Yes, I’m sure you’re surprised that parents as incredible as us could do such a thing, but it happens.

First, let it be known that we do not make it a policy to lose track of our children, but as any parent can attest, once they start walking and developing a little mind of their own it gets more difficult to ensure that they stay where they’re supposed to.  Secondly, this has only begun to happen since Haven’s birth and in situations where we are both present.  So, it could be due to inadequate communication and the fact that we’re outnumbered.  Regardless…

The first time this happened was on a trip to Silver Dollar City earlier in the year.  The kids had done really well up until the point where we wondered into Geyser Gulch.  Their eyes widened as they took in the various water sprayers and the three story playhouse complete with slides and air cannons for shooting foam balls.  Tamara found a seat at the far end of the play area and set to taking care of Haven.  I took the boys and headed up the playhouse.  We did the slides and shot the cannons for a long time.  At one point, Gage wanted to go do another slide, so I told Griffin exactly where we were going.  I expected him to follow.  He didn’t.

This was the beginning of a terrifying 15 minute search of the area.  When we got off the slide and he wasn’t behind us, I checked where I had left him.  He wasn’t there.  Gage and I sat still and scanned the area to see if we could see Griffin.  Once that failed, I headed back to Tamara and dropped the younger kid with her.  Taking the stairs of the playhouse two and three at a time, I went to the top and worked my way back down…three times.  Panic was beginning to creep in at the edges of my mind.  Somewhere in my head, a timer was incrementing, and with each tick of the clock I knew the search area was widening.  What if someone took him?  What if he was looking for us and wondered out of Geyser Gulch?  I may not even be looking in the right place!  What was he even wearing?

I went to the area entrance and scanned the crowd, hoping to see a little blond haired boy playing in the sprinklers.  I worked my way back toward the rest of the family, stopping once to pop my head in the bottom floor of the playhouse and look around.  Ducking back outside, I walked slowly, scanning the faces of each child, all the while hoping he somehow made it back to his mother.  When I got within eyesight of Tamara, I could tell by the look on her face that he wasn’t there.  “Have you looked at the water cannons,” she asked.  “He was talking about those when we came in.”  I didn’t know where they were at, so I stayed with the two youngest kids while she went and checked them out.

Moments later, a water soaked little towhead came bounding around the corner with a thundercloud of a mother in close pursuit.  Desperate worry changed to instant relief, which was immediately evaporated by red-hot anger.  The boy got a good chewing on by both parents, and then was relegated to holding a hand for the rest of the visit.

In a moment of freedom, the little guy made a bad choice.  He didn’t even know it until he was being ‘read the Riot Act’.  You can teach and remind and practice all you want, but there are inevitably times when it is up to them to make the right decision.  I guess it’s true what they say, “You can lead a horse to spilled milk, but you can’t make him cry.”  Or something like that…