Errands are not their cup of tea. Or hot chocolate, or milk, or even lemonade.
But, yet, there they were, my three, occupying the back seat of the minivan, their mama driving hither and yon, mentally putting check marks by the stops as she went down the errands list.
Driving to the stops along the way is not a problem for these three. One boy is happy when the radio is on, (so the radio is on), one boy is happy when he has a sketchbook and pen in hand, (so he has a sketchbook and pen in hand), and the other boy is happy when he has a mint in his mouth, (so he has two mints in his mouth).
And we go merrily along...until we come to our first store. And, here is when the problems begin.
"Mama, do we have to come in?" they say. "Can't we just stay in the car?"
It seems that they are not the least bit nervous at the thought of their mother abandoning them in the car while it's parked in a huge parking lot full of strangers in 90 degree weather. Not nervous in the least. Because to them, this seems way better than the alternative, which involves a shopping cart. Up and down long aisles in a shopping cart, eons of time in a shopping cart--and out of a shopping cart, and in a shopping cart, and out of a shopping cart, until their mother banishes them forever to remain in the shopping cart until their father gets home, then he can come back and get them.
They stay in the shopping cart.
But they'd much rather be alone in a sweltering minivan in a huge parking lot, with strangers looking in the windows while they listen to the radio and draw in a sketch book and suck on mints.
But, sometimes, once-in-a-while, every so often, their mama has to stop at a small store, in a small parking lot, and the store has big windows in front, and there's a parking space right in front of the big windows that are in front of the small store that's in the small parking lot that their mama has to park in...and she lets them stay in the car and listen to the radio, and draw in a sketchbook, and suck on two more mints. Because the A/C is on, and she can see them from inside. And because there are no shopping carts in this store.
And, goodness gracious, are we all ever glad when that's the last store on the errands list, and we can head for home.
Today, their mama takes a not-often-used short-cut, already thinking of what comes next in the day once we hit our own driveway.
But... we have no idea what fun this not-often-used shortcut is about to lead us to. Just up ahead, around a bend in the road, we came upon this:
Now, what mama with a vanload of boys could keep the pedal to the metal and truck on past something like this? It just can't be done. So, we made a swift right turn, and went wheeling down a dirt road to the back side of the lake, the perils and boredom of Errand Day swiftly blowing away in the cloud of dust behind us. We parked alongside all the minivans and station wagons, and jumped out of the van, just knowing this was going to be as exciting as bare feet in a mud puddle.
It seems that it was Tuesday, after 10:00, but not yet twelve, and the old gents of the Model Sailboat Club had their flag flying, their boats launched, and their sails up. There were straw hats and ball caps, bifocals and silver hair, and wrinkled grandpa knees poking out from between Bermuda shorts and white Wellies. From the shade of the trees, the grandmas sat looking on, content in their lawn chairs.
The four of us stood there, taking it all in, mama snapping pictures like a blogger, and before we knew it, one of the grandpas started heading his white Wellies our way. We soon found out that he was Mr. Commons, and he thought that it was about time some little boys knew a thing or two about model boat sailing. He showed the basic maneuvers of the remote control, then asked who was ready to give it a try. The first boy stepped right up.
After a while, Mr. Commons handed us over to Mr. James Buchanan Robinson, who really was such a patient and gentle instructor, even though he did forget which boat the boys were sailing. And he had as much fun proudly telling us about his many children and grandchildren, and that all of them had come about because that's what you get when you have a devout Catholic and a foxy Protestant.
We were having the best time, sailing, visiting, and marveling at this unbelievable surprise we had found on the short-cut road. Then we looked up and saw this guy coming toward us like a bee to honey.
He asked if it would be alright if he taped my guys. Then he asked if he could mic my guy and ask him questions while he sailed the boat, because "News Channel 5 is going to be doing a story about the sailboat club."
What?? Really? Our goodness gracious, this was becoming the BESTerrand day we'd ever had! Why, of course, Mr. News-camera Man, tape and mic away!
Ah, but all fairy-tales must come to an end. At 12:00 sharp, Mr. Commons wrapped up the flag, and the spell was broken. The boats started heading for shore. It was time for this lot of sailors to pull off their Wellies, slip into their deck shoes, and head to Perkins for lunch. And time for three boys to give handshakes and many thanks all around.
Be sure to come back, those grandpas said, they're here every Tuesday, from ten until twelve.
An out-of-the-way lake, on a short-cut road,
A grandpa with Wellies, and a remote for his boat,
A newsman to record him and his toys,
This was just the ticket for my errand-worn boys.
