I drove Hayden and her friend Hannah to Indianapolis today, because they’re volunteering at a Sonrise retreat this weekend. We took a couple little detours…one to grab some Chick Fil A (Hayden’s third time there this week…sweet!) and one to see Grandpa Erich, Grandma Jeanette, Uncle Stephen, and Aunt Cheryl for a few minutes. We drove through some pretty decent traffic on the way there, and I crawled along bumper-to-bumper for an hour on the way home. So when Jason and I talked several times throughout the day, and he ended each conversation with the words “Be safe,” I thought it was sweet.
When I turned the comment back, though, and replied, “You be safe,” he scoffed a little bit. “I’m here with the kids,” he said. “What could happen?”
He shouldn’t have asked. First he tried to copy the children by climbing a tree they found at the park. Apparently the vine he was pulling on (he tells me it was more than a vine, but I’m not so sure)…the vine that so easily held the seven, five, and four-year-old children, wasn’t quite sturdy enough to hold him. He came down with a crash, flat on his back, where he rested long enough for Fiffer to lean over him and ask, “Should I call someone?”
Then…when he was chasing them around in the dark with flashlights (part of the bedtime routine), he decided to hide behind the couch and scare them. It would have worked better if he hadn’t almost knocked himself unconscious on the coffee table.
Bless his heart. He just took a big dose of ibuprofen. Should we lay bets on if he’s able to get out of bed in the morning?