Funny, how, when I realized G was still alive--my first instinct was to KILL her.
Not in the strike-her-dead sense, of course, but in a wanting-to-obliterate-that-part-of-her-brain-that-told-her-it-was-okay-to-do-that, sort of way.
Let me explain.
Since it is summer, and today was cloudy, I motivated myself and took G and Little J (Big J and L are at camp) to Grant's Trail to ride their scooters. Important to note, I've never done this before.
Grant's Trail, for those not from the Lou, is a paved trail that used to be an old rail line. It starts two miles from our house, and sort of runs diagonally for 8 miles. It's great and flat, and except for the fact that it crosses several major roads in our part of town, it's so nice for the kids.
Or so I thought.
We scootered for about a half a mile, played on a small playground near the start of the trail, watched the cars on the highway, and then proceeded back. G has gotten pretty awesome on her Razor scooter, so she was zipping on ahead of me and little bits.
And after about 3 minutes, I couldn't see her. No biggie, she's cautious. She'll realize she doesn't see me and stop. At this point, I am fighting every part of my instinct that tells me she needs to be close. That I need to keep a tight grip on her.
I should have been keeping a tight grip on her.
After a few more minutes of no G sightings, I begin to think she's made it to the car and won the race against her much slower younger brother. Because at the age of six, EVERYTHING is a race and if you don't win, the rules can always be reconfigured in your favor to make you victorious by the power of opposites, or something like that. We approach the car and she is NOWHERE to be found. And I might add that the parking lot sits just off of one of the busy streets the trail crosses, as mentioned earlier.
But she's not bleeding in the middle of the road. And she is OBVIOUSLY not in the parking lot. I know, because I cannot see her, and I am screaming her full name.
And then I know what's happened. She's been kidnapped. Definitely abducted.
Because there is no way in H-E-L-L that she crossed the busy, four lane street. No, she didn't cross the street.
No.
Not in the strike-her-dead sense, of course, but in a wanting-to-obliterate-that-part-of-her-brain-that-told-her-it-was-okay-to-do-that, sort of way.
Let me explain.
Since it is summer, and today was cloudy, I motivated myself and took G and Little J (Big J and L are at camp) to Grant's Trail to ride their scooters. Important to note, I've never done this before.
Grant's Trail, for those not from the Lou, is a paved trail that used to be an old rail line. It starts two miles from our house, and sort of runs diagonally for 8 miles. It's great and flat, and except for the fact that it crosses several major roads in our part of town, it's so nice for the kids.
Or so I thought.
We scootered for about a half a mile, played on a small playground near the start of the trail, watched the cars on the highway, and then proceeded back. G has gotten pretty awesome on her Razor scooter, so she was zipping on ahead of me and little bits.
And after about 3 minutes, I couldn't see her. No biggie, she's cautious. She'll realize she doesn't see me and stop. At this point, I am fighting every part of my instinct that tells me she needs to be close. That I need to keep a tight grip on her.
I should have been keeping a tight grip on her.
After a few more minutes of no G sightings, I begin to think she's made it to the car and won the race against her much slower younger brother. Because at the age of six, EVERYTHING is a race and if you don't win, the rules can always be reconfigured in your favor to make you victorious by the power of opposites, or something like that. We approach the car and she is NOWHERE to be found. And I might add that the parking lot sits just off of one of the busy streets the trail crosses, as mentioned earlier.
But she's not bleeding in the middle of the road. And she is OBVIOUSLY not in the parking lot. I know, because I cannot see her, and I am screaming her full name.
And then I know what's happened. She's been kidnapped. Definitely abducted.
Because there is no way in H-E-L-L that she crossed the busy, four lane street. No, she didn't cross the street.
No.
No?
...NO!
Honestly, the thought of child abduction seems more possible than my timid six-year-old crossing a road of constant traffic. Without me. I am so sure about this, that I debate calling 911.
In which case, I am pretty confident that the nice police officer will tell me to check the next section of the trail. I am nothing but logical under pressure. So, I hoist a 35-pound Little J on to my hip and dodge traffic across Sappington--but let's face it, I am moving a little bit slower than a six-year-old scooter whiz.
At which point I flag down a walker and a biker who confirm that yes-indeedy, a cute little blonde on a scooter did pass them. Several minutes ahead of where we are standing.
Did I mention that the walker is accompanied by a large rottweiler with a muzzle? And for a minute, this kind woman was going to watch Little J while I sprinted (at my 10-minute-mile pace, no doubt), toward my runaway. Little J, however, SCREAMED to me that this was a bad idea--not sure if it was the rottweiler or the muzzle that did it for him--and so we re-brainstormed, and the kind biker zoomed back down the trail to retrieve my daughter, who was in the worst trouble of her short, little life.
And here is yet another test--would the kindergartner heed my advice on strangers and not follow this kind, but totally unfamiliar woman?
No, she would not. Ten minutes later they reappeared as Mike was trying to verbally decrease my heart rate. At which point, I am glad she willingly followed the good-samaritan biker, but also began thinking I am slacking in my parental responsibility to make sure that my children are afraid of everything (SOOOOO obviously the reason we are in this predicament to begin with...not enough fear).
I'm kidding. I will only ruin my children and qualify them for life-long therapy unintentionally...not on purpose.
Was she terrified? Freaking out? Thinking her mother abandoned her on Grant's Trail? Temporarily insane thus causing her to forget/ignore every lesson on NOT CROSSING MAJOR ROADWAYS????
Um, no. Not even one iota of scared. More irritated that I interrupted her killer ride. Dude.
I could have killed her. Hugged her and cartwheeled and squeezed her...and killed her for that kind of drama.
And here is yet another test--would the kindergartner heed my advice on strangers and not follow this kind, but totally unfamiliar woman?
No, she would not. Ten minutes later they reappeared as Mike was trying to verbally decrease my heart rate. At which point, I am glad she willingly followed the good-samaritan biker, but also began thinking I am slacking in my parental responsibility to make sure that my children are afraid of everything (SOOOOO obviously the reason we are in this predicament to begin with...not enough fear).
I'm kidding. I will only ruin my children and qualify them for life-long therapy unintentionally...not on purpose.
Was she terrified? Freaking out? Thinking her mother abandoned her on Grant's Trail? Temporarily insane thus causing her to forget/ignore every lesson on NOT CROSSING MAJOR ROADWAYS????
Um, no. Not even one iota of scared. More irritated that I interrupted her killer ride. Dude.
I could have killed her. Hugged her and cartwheeled and squeezed her...and killed her for that kind of drama.
4 comments:
That scared me to read, even knowing how it turned out.
We had a similar instance on a bike trail in one of the metroparks here (large sprawling expanses of forest and nothing but serial killers and child predators and bears for miles) when A thought she could just run ahead of me, because duh, I am so slow with a baby strapped to my back and two tired 3-year-olds to hustle along. I was *thisclose* to calling 911. When I saw her I wanted to leave her out there just to scare some sense into her.
Also A just turned 7 and has not mastered crossing the street. Last month she ran out right in front of an oncoming car. Gah!
When will we ever learn that the only good place to parent is from the safety and comfort of our own couches?
So scary! I bet she never even looked back. As you said she was just enjoying the ride! I had a similar experience to that when I was a child on the beach I just kept walking looking for shells until I was way down the shoreline. I had no idea my family was looking for me in both directions!
So glad your story had a happy ending
oh that is the worst feeling. so sorry. i am really impressed with G's scooter abilities though! must have been that she had one less tooth to weigh her down.
whoa bessie! That really had my heart pounding
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