Saturday & Adrenaline Don't Mix

I never knew that it was completely possible to act on pure Adrenaline with no thought whatsoever of anything other than the mission at hand and the absolute necessity that: I. Must. Keep. Going.

Saturday we were heading on our first bike ride of the season. The first ride is always a little more cumbersome because we have to re-learn how to make bikes and gear for 10 fit on and in the van. Objects have to be pulled from storage and pieces have to be reunited. For instance, having the bolt to put the bike hitch on the back of the van is very, very important. It's a worthy process, but a long one, made even more challenging by the fact that 8 ping-pong balls are jumping around you squealing, "Is it time? Can we go? Are you ready? How much longer?"

Saturday found Scott and I gathering objects from hither and yon. Mom and dad were helping as our bikes are graciously housed in their garage, which  meant some items had been shuffled from last year and their location needed to be researched since we weren't the movers. The children were given the option of playing in the front under the watchful eyes of the three oldest Rutherfords (or OARs, as we call them. Oldest Available Rutherford) or in the fenced in back yard. One of the children's friends was coming along, so I was chatting with her mom about where we were going, times, exchanging cell numbers, collecting her gear, etc. You know: all that really responsible-parent stuff.

Saturday was a beautiful day; absolutely perfect for a bike ride. The weather was sunny and warm with a slight breeze. The children who would be riding on seats or in the bike trailer would actually need jackets, but anyone pedaling would be completely comfortable. The last bike was hung, the children we assembling in the van, and the excitement was palpable. As I climbed into my seat, we did a quick head count only to discover the twins were not in their seats. I did the customary grumbling about no one letting Scott or I know they were still in the back yard as I got back out of the van. The kids shouted their apologies and went back to giggles and one-ups-man-ship about who could ride the fastest and furthest. I quickly walked through the house and started yelling for Keats and Aidan even before I was out the screen door. No answering squeals of delight over the upcoming bike ride. No answering queries of "Is it time?" No anything.

Saturday is a busy day in the neighborhood. People are mowing their lawns, washing their cars, edging the flower beds. The gentle hum of a community outside enjoying a lovely day. But this yard was way too quiet. A quick perusal found the yard utterly empty. Frustration ebbed through me as I realized they not only left the backyard, none of the responsible older three even noticed! I let Scott know and we quickly checked the neighbor's yards, as the cul-de-sac is literally full of friends of the children who all flit from one yard to the next without much thought. It is truly a neighborhood right out of a Dick and Jane Reader. Again - nothing. We went back through the house, room by room, thinking perhaps they were visiting with Papaw upstairs. Nothing.

Saturday wasn't quite a normal day in the neighborhood as it was the annual street yard sale. There had been a lot more walking up and down the street than usual. Had the boys gone further down the street than we thought? It was also the first day we allowed Dawson to go to the park with two of his friends without an adult. Had the twins followed the boys back over to the park after hearing all of Dawson's adventures? I hauled Dawson out of the van to jog to the park with me (he knew the short cut through the back yards) to check while Scott ran down the street. I should probably admit here that I haven't been running, no matter what it still says on my Facebook page. I got pregnant, had a baby, and quit running. I was winded way before Dawson, but pushed myself because I could not stand the idea of not knowing where Keats and Aidan were.

Saturday at the park usually means baseball games and picnics, so I was praying as I ran that the park wouldn't be so crowded that I would have trouble spotting the boys. We rounded the corner and Dawson's buddies jumped out of one of the trees in their camo gear and called to Dawson. His reply was quick: "We can't find the twins. Have you seen them?" They hadn't seen the boys, but they started looking, too. I scanned the lightly populated park and my heart fell when I realized that not a single child playing there was mine. My mom's car came down into the parking lot, which meant Scott hadn't found them either. I told Dawson to stay with his Nana and kept running. There are several entrances into the park from the neighborhood behind my parent's house, so I aimed for one of those and just kept running, yelling Keats and Aidan's names as loud as I could.

Saturday used to be my favorite day to run because it felt so free to not have the normal daily schedule around you. I was free to start and stop when I felt like it. But nothing about this run felt free. I was aching and my body was screaming that it wasn't conditioned to be used like this any more. I mentally scolded myself into submission and just kept running. I called out to everyone I met: "Have you seen twin boys, almost five years old, wearing . . ." The answer was always the same. "No." Their reactions were always the same, too. Everything was dropped and they began looking for those precious boys. Scott rounded the corner in the van. He had dropped Isabelle at home in case they walked there and he was following a neighbor's tip that Keats and Aidan were last seen heading into her backyard. Could they have just kept going and ended up in the neighborhood behind their house? Scott convinced me to get into the van with him and we began to drive, scanning everything on both sides of the van trying to see a glimpse of their brand-new Buzz and Woody shirts, continuing to call their names as loudly as possible and asking everyone we saw if they had seen the boys.

Saturday now felt crowded as I realized there were people everywhere I looked. Kids playing in yards would make my heart leap into my throat with hope only to realize they were not my boys. The five minutes I spent in the van were agony. It was too slow. Too stationary. Too much sit and wait. I couldn't take it any more. When Scott stopped to ask a mailman, I jumped out of the car, prepared to run through the backyards we couldn't see from the street. Cars were stopped on both sides of the street while we help up traffic and several concerned voices asked what was going on. I asked if they had seen our boys and gave descriptions. Each and every car sitting there turned around and started looking as well, crawling the streets while watching for two boys in  Green and Black-Camo Toy Story 3 shirts.

Saturday in May is a great day to set up a backyard pool, getting it ready for the summer months to come. As I ran through backyards calling for the twins, I was struck at the number of pools I saw with covers removed for cleaning and filling. My heart tightened as I pushed my body harder, thinking of the swimming lessons the boys still hadn't taken because of the tubes in Aidan's ears. Every thump of my foot onto the uneven ground brought another prayer. God be with my boys. God protect my boys. God watch over my boys. God please. God please. God please. I ran through yards, hopped fences, pushed through arborvitae, always calling their names and never stopping. Eventually I wound my way back to my parent's house. My heart was thudding as I again searched the familiar house and yard, hoping they had somehow been overlooked or wandered back or were napping behind a sofa. More silence. Scott came in to let me know the police were on their way & he had picked up Isabelle. All I could think was "They'll need a picture. I have no picture. I don't carry pictures and I empty my cell pictures all the time. Where am I going to get a picture? And what picture will convey what those boys mean to me? What they mean to our lives?" I eventually thought to grab our family picture off a table and, finally, walked slowly out of the house.

Saturday and the police for us have always meant that we are at the Annual Safety Days at the local police and ambulance station. We watch the demonstration of the K9 units and see all the equipment in the ambulance while going for rides on the stretcher. We have the safety talks and practice stranger awareness. Yet here we were watching the police cruiser coming down the road on a Saturday because we had failed miserably to keep our sons protected. They had been missing for 60 minutes. An entire hour. Eternity. As Scott began talking to the officer and I was working my way over with the picture, a golden car pulled up alongside and from the back seat climbed the most amazing sight I will ever see in my life. My boys. My Keats. My Aidan. Together, unhurt, unafraid, and completely and utterly within my sight. The relief was instantaneous. The next several minutes for me blur together. I know they were found almost 2 miles away by road. I know the woman who found them was one of the concerned drivers over by the mailman. I know the police talked with the boys about never wandering again and made Scott and I feel like completely unfit parents, which is their job so I don't hold it against them. I know that there were details given for the police report and that the road beneath my body was warm. But mostly I remember what it felt like to hold those boys in my arms, to breathe in the heady scent of them both, to touch their solidness and to feel their breath on my neck.

Saturday for us turned into quite the party. After Scott made me eat sugar and drink lots of water, we gave up on the idea of a bike ride, corralled all of our children in the fenced-in backyard where we could see them, and invited everyone we could on short notice to celebrate with us. Pizza, soda, and ice-cream became our Prodigal Sons' fatted calf. I never really understood before the idea of throwing a huge celebration when the wandering son returned home. I always felt it was kind of over the top and a little ridiculous to celebrate in such an exuberant matter. The naughty kid came home. Great. Put him to work. Now, however, I totally get it. Absolutley there were talks about wandering and how they were to NEVER do it again. And you can believe that they were lectured like crazy about getting into a stranger's car. But all of that came later, after we celebrated the simple joy of having them home.

They were, it turns out, chasing a bird and by the time they stopped to really look around, they had no idea where they were. So they just kept walking. When asked if they were scared they looked at us as if we were daft and said "No. I had my brother." Oh. For the record, we told them that having their brother wasn't good enough. They must be with someone at least a foot taller then they are in order for it to be considered an acceptable buddy. Aidan's thoughts on that? "Aw, man!"