Throwback Thursday
It took me a moment to realize the house had grown very quiet.
Let me repeat. It took me a few glorious moments, the sort of moments of which every parent with young children dreams. Moments of tranquility. Moments allowing a cup of tea, a flop on the couch or maybe, for a few brief (ever so brief) moments to close my eyes for a minute. Just a couple of minutes. Maybe five minutes.
Of course, awareness of my very quiet house jolted me to full consciousness! Where were the kids?
Why are they being so quiet? My busy seven-year old middle son and my four-year old daughter were more likely to be noisily pestering each other. Panic set in with the realization that this quiet was too quiet.
Fortunately, it didn’t take too long to locate them.
I knocked and simultaneously opened the door to my daughter’s second floor bedroom to find the two of them conspicuously standing side by side as if standing at attention. I resisted the urge to say “at ease.”
They were dressed in their bike helmets and the flimsy knee pads and elbow pads that were originally part of toy roller skating sets they were gifted for Christmas. I soon realized they were standing close together so as to block my vision of the rope they had tied to the legs of my daughter’s bed frame.
“What are you guys doing?” I asked.
“We made a zip line!” my daughter practically sang with pride with her high pitched still baby-like voice.
Her brother’s face flashed her a look of betrayal and then quickly decided he might be more successful by echoing her enthusiasm. He grinned widely and hopefully at me.
It was in that moment I realized that they had removed the screen from the window and the rope had been threaded through the opening. I walked to the window and saw that the taught woven nylon had been attached to the base of one of my seven-foot hibiscus bushes a driveway length away and a story below.
How long had I rested? This engineering activity had surely been going on for some time, spanning two levels, indoors and out.
“Awe guys, I’m sorry that won’t work. It’s too dangerous. And you won’t be able to stop.”
“Yes, we will Mom, I made sure it’s tight,” my son proudly shared.
They had been hearing our talk of wanting to anchor a zip line to an old tree at the lake where we vacationed every year. My husband and I had planted this terrible idea!
“But there’s no water to drop into. There’s no way to slow down. If the rope doesn’t break, you’ll slam straight into the wood branches.”
‘
“But we thought of that, Mom. We’re safe. We have these pads for protection!” They bent their elbows as proof.
They were adamant they had worked out every detail and were ready to head off the counter-arguments I would make. Their little eyebrows raised with anticipation. Surely my answer would be yes.
My heart melted soaking in the earnest expression on their faces. They believed they had prepared a rock-solid case. I couldn’t possibly object with all of the forethought they demonstrated.
“I’m sorry kiddos this rope was not meant to hold human bodies.”
As tears welled in their eyes, my daughter repeated, “But we’re being safe, Mom. Just like you want us to.”
I slowly shook my head no, wishing deep down I could make their little zip line dreams come true–a bittersweet end to their antics.
***
So why is this story on replay in my mind lately, fifteen years, and thousands of now eerily frequent, tranquil moments later? Thinking about it makes me smile.
I love a good anecdote. Perhaps this clingy recollection has something to do with the spirit that innocent children possess in excess even when they are at their most mischievousness.
Something about dreaming of possibilities.
Something about invention with the tools already in your possession.
Something about heading off adversity by anticipating the arguments against you.
Something about the joy of creativity,
the product of collaboration.
Something about hope.
And sincerity.
And guts.
Maybe it’s just a fond memory.
Probably it’s all of those things.
I’m on the lookout for a little more of that spirit of mischief.