A few days ago, Ollie and Nicholas asked me if they could play at
Thomas and William's house for the afternoon.
I told them they could if they would text Thomas and William's mom, Amy
to see if it was OK first.
Nicholas texted Amy, and after 78 seconds with no response,
they decided to just run over. Kids do things like that.
We had just returned from a hectic day, where I was in heels for most of it.
I was eager to get my swollen feet up.
Thomas and William live just across Fox Hill,
and it's pretty magical watching my boys
run across the foothills from our house to theirs.
Since I was exhausted, I said they could go if they would
take Lottie, who was dying of boredom, and besties with their little sister, Ada.
This would make it possible for me to
maybe catch a nap before dinner.
The boys agreed and set out across the hill with Lottie trailing behind.
I watched as they trudged across the
grassy hill practically pulling Lottie along.
Seconds later, I got a text from Amy, who informed me
that her whole family was out for the evening.
At that point, the boys were too far away for me to call out to them and so
I just let them continue on, plus I knew the exercise would do them some good.
I was sure after ringing the doorbell 200 times,
the boys would figure out they weren't home
and eventually get back on the trail and head back home.
After 30 minutes passed, I became a little concerned.
They hadn't returned yet.
I worried that Lottie had run out of gas and the boys didn't have the
physical strength to carry her all the way home.
I imagined Lottie sprawled on the side of the hill, screaming from exhaustion.
That's when I pulled on my boots, grabbed my sweater, and set out to find my kids.
To be honest, I was a little annoyed.
Walking along our hill, I noticed how the later afternoon sky made everything
so vibrant and clear. The leaves on the trees hung like jewels, sparkling
and fluttering in the muted sun.
And I was immediately glad I was outside.
I wasn't annoyed anymore at all.
Pretty soon, I saw my troop taking a break on a large rock.
When Ollie saw me coming to his rescue, he shouted to me:
"Yessssss Mom!!" Then, turning to Nicholas, he yelled,
"Nicholas, it's MOM! She's here!"
I waved at the trio
I picked up Lottie, put her on my shoulders, and snapped a photo
of the boys on top of the famous foothill rock.
The rock is special because once, long ago,
their grandpa, my dad, the king of Provo, had a photo of himself
taken on that same rock when he was ten years old.
He had a flattop, wore jeans, a t-shirt, and Chuck Taylor's
just like my boys, minus the graffiti on the rock.
The graffiti is stupid.
