Because don’t all little boys read comic books dressed up in motorcycle clothes? (Waiting his turn to ride.)
It was a full week, that last bit of May here in the country. Someday life won’t be so overflowing with noise and ruckus, dirt and wild animals–and wild children, so dear diary, help me remember this for the quiet days ahead.
The youngest son learned how to ride a motorcycle, a little 50 minibike that his big brother used to ride. Now I have four children on motorcycles and I just work hard to push out of my mind those incidents that are bound to happen: run-ins with rocks, scraped up knees, broken bones. He ran in to proudly tell me, “I only ran into three trees, Mama!”
The big event of the week was the birthday of my girl who turned eleven. Dad surprised her with a Honda XR 80, as she’s fabulously outgrown the 50. She amazed us all with her strength and ability to master this thing immediately. She also helped her little brother and sister learn to ride her old bike, and I’m just so proud of her as a teacher as well as a fun-loving tomboy.
There really was more than dirt bikes in the week. We roasted marshmallows and ate s’mores at the fire pit out back. My oldest son built a perfect fire and we enjoyed good family time and made memories around the flames.
As a minor upset, the neighbor’s dog attacked the 4H lambs while the girls were out walking them. Some doctoring up was in order, and our neighbor, affectionately known as Dr. Quinn, Medicine Woman, came and helped us out. We discovered the miracle of Vetericyn for wound care.
Our own dog, ever a central figure in days around the ranch, brought us a few gifts: baby jackrabbits. He dug up a nest somewhere out in the sagebrush, and trotting over with little ears hanging out of his mouth, deposited them on the lawn, completely unharmed though slobbering wet. We’re letting the girls keep them for a week or so to “nurse” them, then release them. It’s not at all advisable to try to raise a wild rabbit, but we figured either way (dropping them back in the desert somewhere or nursing them) was about the same level of success–which is to say, not much of a chance of survival either way. We’ve been through this before.
The blessings just keep coming, and I am here counting them, truly grateful for every moment.