A few days ago I put all three littles in the minivan, even though the seats were all laid down since Theo had been hauling lumber in the van. I let them sit or lay down or roll around while I drove the back roads--maybe taking some curves a tiny bit fast to give them a thrill. I felt like a kid back on the farm when a whole slew of cousins would pile into the back of a pickup truck and dad would drive home from the field and we'd all be sliding around on the curves laughing and clutching at each other.
My kids have never before ridden in a car without being belted into a carseat. From a five point harness to total unseated freedom was intoxicating, exhilarating. They exited the car, 20 minutes later, wide-eyed as if stumbling off a roller coaster.
This is so out of character for me. Something about living in dangerous times and the need to suddenly embrace it, even for a few minutes, instead of constantly fighting it. Something about the desperate need to give small children something new because they thrive on newness. Every new thing is gloriously, richly new in the ways adults can never be surprised by newness anymore. Something about the freedom from watching eyes--no more social workers, no government oversight at all now that we're out of school and isolated from society. We're making our own rules now.
That moment, taking a curve at 30 instead of 25 mph, and listening to their shrieks of glee, is the epitome of this epidemic. Weird times, living a life I'd never have imagined, odd bits of fun we seek inbetween long hours of fear as we listen to news and wonder if death is marching closer to our door.
My kids have never before ridden in a car without being belted into a carseat. From a five point harness to total unseated freedom was intoxicating, exhilarating. They exited the car, 20 minutes later, wide-eyed as if stumbling off a roller coaster.
This is so out of character for me. Something about living in dangerous times and the need to suddenly embrace it, even for a few minutes, instead of constantly fighting it. Something about the desperate need to give small children something new because they thrive on newness. Every new thing is gloriously, richly new in the ways adults can never be surprised by newness anymore. Something about the freedom from watching eyes--no more social workers, no government oversight at all now that we're out of school and isolated from society. We're making our own rules now.
That moment, taking a curve at 30 instead of 25 mph, and listening to their shrieks of glee, is the epitome of this epidemic. Weird times, living a life I'd never have imagined, odd bits of fun we seek inbetween long hours of fear as we listen to news and wonder if death is marching closer to our door.
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