This past weekend was absolutely gorgeous and we took advantage of every last minute of it. Saturday was opening day of fishing season, so when the alarm went off at 4AM, Bill was out the door for his annual ritual with Uncle Fat Kid.
I, on the other hand, rolled back over and slept until Matt joined me at 7:15AM, followed by Megan 30 minutes later when I finally pried myself off of the mattress. Once I saw (and felt) how warm and beautiful it was, I instantly felt rejuvenated and felt the need to do some spring cleaning...or nesting...haven't quite figured out yet what it was that struck me. So I set the kids loose in the back yard, keeping an eye on them as I began doing laundry, etc.
They started out playing on the deck and from there headed out to the swing set where I watched them running from the middle of the yard and landing on the swings on their tummies, laughing hysterically. All was good...and then I went upstairs to grab some more dirty laundry...and when I looked out the upstairs bathroom window, I saw Matthew...hanging from the middle of the monkey bars...with Megan hollering, "jump down Matthew".
It was like I was frozen on the spot. I knew I couldn't make it down the stairs, through the house and across the back yard fast enough to help him down (and no - not just because I'm weighed down with this gigantic stomach) but because I was afraid to take my eyes off of him for fear that if I left that window, he would fall and I wouldn't have been "watching". Crazy I know - but that was the thought process I went through in those few short moments. My saving grace, or rather Matthew's saving grace, was our old next door neighbor who came running across the back yard in his robe and p.j.'s, all the while yelling, "Hang on Matthew! Don't let go!"
Well he made it there in time and everyone was fine. I, however, went through another crazy thought process before ungluing myself from my post at the window. How do I go down and face my neighbor? An old man, with at least 40 years on me, who managed to make it out of his house (or at least off of his deck) and through the back yard fast enough to save my son, when all I could do was watch. God - I'm a horrible mother. What other mothers allow their 5 and 3 years olds play in the back yard without hovering over them? Was my need to get the cleaning done that great that I couldn't think logically? Can I get away with blaming my pregnancy brain on this one?
Nah - I went with the classic - "Thank you sooooo much John! I heard what was going on but I was going to the bathroom and couldn't get back out here fast enough." Surely implying that I was taking a dump was a good enough excuse. I mean, would he honestly think that I would round up the kids and bring them back inside, just so I could do my business? Yeah - this excuse would have to do...but I guess I'd better come up with something better for the next time when I allow my bad parenting skills to shine through for all to see!!