Ogden. Again.

Which can only mean one thing:

Saturday’s grand adventure four weeks ago was a bust.

Bummer.

 

And I had such high hopes, too.

Dylan was off at scout camp and the remaining kids drug their feet more than normal getting lunch messes picked up.  That meant that just the seven of us rolled out later than ever with only a few hours to kill before picking up Dyl.  As usual, we stopped at our friendly neighborhood Smith’s to gas up and grab snacks.

Ben was less than enthusiastic about Cam wanting to help out with window duty until I subtly shot him the Dude, are you really saying NO to one of our kids volunteering to work Look.

This would probably have been a nice picture if my window wasn’t filthy.  Oh well.  Moving on ….

Our first stop was Peterson’s newly “old” office.

We’d had a few weeks to get ready for it’s closing, but it was still hard to watch Ben stand in front of it for the last time and peer inside.  In theory he had a job waiting for him on the regular banking side of the company … but there was no actual assignment or concrete plan.  All of this made walking away from this office and facing Monday all the more uncertain.

After leaving the office, we drove into Ogden on a bit of somber note in search of something—anything—to help lighten the mood.  The only problem was that everything that sounded fun was already over or too far away to get to before we had to be back to grab Dylan. 

And so we drove around.  And around.

The kids were getting restless.  Ben and I were getting restless. 

It got bad enough that we even stopped by the local KitchenAid repair shop to see if they had a bowl for our stand mixer kind of bad.  So after a half hour of looping around Ogden, I asked Ben to pull over and let the kids play at the nice little park nestled oddly between the city amphitheatre and courthouse while we figured out what we were doing for real.

And within two seconds of pulling in, kids 2-6 scrambled from car seats like bats out of hell and raced towards freedom.  And in typical style, Cameron went straight up to a little boy playing on the slide and practically shouted, “Hey kid.  Have you seen the movie How To Train Your Dragon?” 

And just because the stars align at the oddest times, “Kid” had seen the movie … and it was his favorite … and they both thought the the dragon Toothless was the coolest … and instantly they were best friends … doing headstands and cartwheels in the grass … and laughing and playing as if they’d been friends since birth.

And while Cam and Kid did their thing, Creepy and Ash chased each other across bridges and up the stairs to the slides …

… and laughed and teased …

… and smiled down at mom …

… while that increasingly familiar pang gnawed at my heart.  That pang that told me that Ash finally conquering her fear of going down the slide meant more than just She Growing Up.

Our family’s growing up.

And that’s amazing.  And a little tough to wrap my head around sometimes.

As I sat and watched the kids play, I was equal parts bummed and happy that Dylan wasn’t here:  he was at scouts having fun with friends, and that’s exactly where he should be.  But it also brought a realization that each year will bring activities and events into each of the kids’ lives that will pull them away from our family.  Saturday adventures with TDHD will bring more and more outings with 5 out of 6 or even 4 out of 6 kids. 

Something about the Ashy-slide-thing and the Dylan-gone-thing made me watch the kids with an awareness that our days at parks were numbered.  But it wasn’t a depressing sad sort of feeling, but more of a peaceful Be Grateful and Enjoy Every Second of This feeling.

And so I did my best to not focus on the fact that the wrinkled Guide To Ogden booklet left on the bench confirmed that yes, all of the “fun” things to do really were done for the day.  Instead, I relished watching Sean and Kade race each other down the slide and drank in how wonderful it was to see them as Best Buds as well as brothers.

And I loved watching Savannah leap right up on the leap frog statue and smiled at how playful and carefree she is …

… until I noticed the large and conspicuous Hey Lady With The Camera: Keep Your Kids Off The Statue plaque. 

Uh, oops.

It also occurred to me that the broken pigtail on the statue was probably caused by another carefree kid leaping on the leap frog statue while another idiot mom proudly smiled and snapped away.

And is usually the case every time our family goes out in public, I wondered whether I owed someone somewhere an apology:

Dear Sir or Madam at the Willard L. Eccles Foundation,

I apologize for my family’s general presence anywhere near your lovely statue and the fact that I, apparently, am blind.   I deeply regret any inconvenience this may have caused ….

Just to the side of the broken leap frog was a beautiful chalk drawing of The Birth of Venus by Bottecelli. 

I tried to get the kids to notice and be impressed that mom actually remembered anything from French art history class, but they were too busy doing really important stuff.

And just about the time I felt the first rain drops start to fall and thrilled at the chance to break up the muggy heat with another great storm, kids 3 & 4 announced that they needed a bathroom right . this . second.

Great.

Total time elapsed in our Saturday adventure at the courthouse park?  Twenty-five minutes.

As kids piled back into the truck … and Cam unhappily said goodbye to Kid … and we headed back to pick up Dylan from scout camp … I seemed to instantly forget all of the little tender mercy feelings and impressions I had just had about my kids and family.  I was glad the kids had had fun, but couldn’t help but feel a little disappointed about having a play date at a park instead of an adventure.

But somewhere near our exit, I got spiritually whacked upside the head again for being so quick to mentally whine.  Ahead of us in the median of the freeway, I saw a large flurry of dirt and flashes of something red and shiny.  It took me a second to catch what I was seeing, but I realized that I was watching a Jeep SUV roll end over end at very high speed.  Just as we came upon it, it rolled to a stop upright with the windshield horribly broken and the airbags deployed.

Within seconds I was on the phone with 911 dispatchers telling them which mile marker the wreck was at, the position of the Jeep and how many cars were involved.  A  minute later as we merged right to get off at our exit, I saw and heard state troopers racing down the shoulder towards the wreck.

I felt shocked.  Stunned.  And really, really stupid.

Stupid for trashing the peaceful, wonderful feeling of Enjoy This Time Now With Your Kids ‘Cause It’s A Gift  by wishing our park adventure had been something more … something better … something cooler.

I was safe.  My husband and kids were safe.  We were getting off at our exit to pick up the missing member of our family and we were all going to make it home for a regular, boring night of dinner and scriptures and prayer and stories and brushing teeth and jammies on and lights out.  

For us there would be no frantic phone calls to family, no hospital visits, no pleading in prayer for miracles and lives spared.  But the friends and family of the red Jeep would.

And so as we drove slowly through the streets of our town, we turned off the radio and offered a prayer for whoever was in the red Jeep and the doctors that would treat them.  And that night we talked about 911 … and emergencies … and the protection of prayer … and very real power of the priesthood to comfort and bless and heal.

Going back through these pictures, I’m reminded that sometimes the adventure is just raising my amazing DHD and not the places we go.

Summer hot spot?

Mine was twenty-five-minutes-at-a-park-with-the-people-I-love-most-capped-by-a-safe-drive-home.

Happy, happy summer.