Gazing out over the sun settling into the mighty Mississippi River, my mother and I were grabbing a bite to eat in my beloved hometown of Natchez.
It was my birthday weekend, and my husband Jason kept all three of our children so that Momma and I could enjoy a quiet day trip together alone.
To be honest, I hadn’t called to check on him because he is always so good with the kids. I knew they were in good hands.
“Oh good heavens,” Momma gasped, as she looked down at her phone.
Puzzled as to what shocked her, I grabbed her phone to see a video Jason had posted on Facebook.
Barrelling down a steep hill in our back yard, my oldest son James was flying down it inside a red plastic coupe. As the toy car drifted sideways, he was ejected from the seat. The entire side of his body scraped down the hill as he contorted around the car before finally stopping.
“I’m OK,” he shouts, as he emerges from underneath the car.
And who was filming this Evel Knievel stunt? His daddy, my husband Jason.
“He’s going to break his neck,” Momma said.
“He does that all the time,” I lied, knowing good and well he had never done that in my presence.
I think I just wanted to ease the worry found on my Momma’s face.
I sometimes wonder what is going on in Jason’s head when he gets alone with those kids. He throws caution out the window and becomes a stunt performer with our children happily being the guinea pigs.
Jason has done it all. He has taken the kids rawhiding in a pasture. He has made them get sick while spinning them in tire swings. They’ve jumped off of banks into creeks and swung on vines from trees. He has rolled them down hills in anything that would move. He has tossed them from the “top rope” onto giant bean bags.
Every time my children come home from an outing with him, they are red in the face and grinning from ear to ear. They usually have grass in their hair and sometimes they need a bandage or two.
But they are happy.
I truly feel there are a ton of “don’t tell Momma” moments. From sneaking in ice cream before supper to an extreme stunt show in the back yard, somethings I just don’t want to know about it.
It’s a don’t ask, don’t tell situation.
There have been many times I have had to run out the screen door to yell at a kid before they took a stage dive off the top of a truck. More than once, I have had to tell Jason to act his age.
But there have been plenty of times too that I sit back, often hidden, and watch Jason do what he does best...be a daddy.
He’s the “cool guy” and the “fun one.” I am only needed to feed, clean and soothe. But deep down, I am fine with that arrangement.
Besides, I don’t think my nerves can handle it.
And I as prepared dinner, my son James runs into the kitchen from outside. His face is blood-red with grass stains on his clothes and leaves shoved in his ear.
“Momma, did you see that,” he asked, out of breath.
“See what,” I ask.
“Nothing,” he replies as he heads back outside.
And looking from the window, I see James give Jason a thumbs-up, followed by a high-five.
The stunt must have gone according to plan, and judging by the way Jason’s walking up that hill smiling like a madman, it looks like it must be Daddy’s turn.
