Bigger than a pizza, or smaller than a pizza?
That is the question that runs through my mind as I sort remnant pieces of lumber into keep or toss piles. The organizer in me would love to make neat stacks of like-sized keep-lumber all over the work site, but the human being in me screams at the organizer reminding her that it is 100 degrees outside and that death by sweat is a bad way to go.
Over the fighting in my head, and the grumbling of the tractor, I hear a sound that momentarily stops my heart and sucks the breathe right out of my lungs. Ian is screaming. The kind of screaming that jump starts horrible scenarios in my vivid imagination. I start running before I actually know where to go, and my eyes frantically scan the landscape looking for the source. I spot his toy 4-wheeler abandoned near the house and immediately my mind concludes that he went into the newly framed house and fell off an unfinished porch. So I run toward the house. But the screaming is not coming from that direction, so I change course and start running toward the blood-curdling cries for help. Finally I locate him and I stop dead in my tracks.
Then the laughter begins.
Across the yard from me, the port-o-potty is rocking. And the screams are coming from inside the shed-o-nasty. I grab the handle and have to struggle with the door to pry it open. Ian’s little shaking body falls out of the door into my arms. The tears have soaked his face and shirt. He keeps mumbling like a madman that he was going to be stuck in the stinky Tardis forever.
He insists that we were going to leave without him and that he would be trapped in the smelly potty for the rest of eternity. It takes me at least 10 minutes to calm him down, and in between trying to console him, I’m chuckling to myself, this is gonna need counseling. He claims he went into the trap, thinking it was like the Tardis. If you don’t know what a Tardis is you must not be a sci-fi fan. Go immediately to, type in Dr. Who’s Tardis and learn everything you can…..
Ian finally pulled himself together, my heart finally regained a normal rythm and we can all laugh about it now. Ian’s laugh is more of a nervous laugh, but a laugh nonetheless. We finished our cleaning just as the sun fell and the moon rose. Our trip home was quiet until Ian ripped of his headphones with a disgusted look on his face and asked, “What is that smell?”
I answered, “It’s a skunk honey.”
He scrunched up his nose and replied, “That stunk smells yucky” as he returned to watching his movie.
No, the above is not a typo, he called it a stunk instead of a skunk. I refuse to correct him, it’s too funny.