At risk of serious understatement, the wind blows in Cheyenne. A lot.
The Chamber of Commerce suggests that the average wind in Cheyenne is somewhere between 12 and 15 miles per hour. For that average to be correct, there would have to be days with no wind at all.
I've lived in Cheyenne for 14 years, and I have never experienced such a day. In fact, by my own measure, if you've only been slammed in your own car door twice in any 12-month period, you're having a pretty good year.
But you get used to it. You pull your hat down a little further. Cake the hair product on a bit thicker. Hold onto your grocery bags a bit tighter.
And never, never take your eyes off your small children.
One day not long ago, it was my job to get all six children in the car and get them home safely. My wife had an evening meeting, and she trusted me to get them home, fed, bathed, and to sleep.
No problem. I have done this before.
I've written in this space about the rubber-necking that occurs when we take the triplet stroller out in public. But I've never had occasion to mention that it, too, exhibits many of the same qualities as a sail. That's because until that same day not that long ago, I didn't know.
I had managed to wedge all the girls through the back door of the Expedition and into their car seats. And I had even gotten two of the boys out of the stroller and into the car (working from back to front, of course; if you take them out from front to back, the damned stroller will flip over with the remaining baby still attached...not that I have ever experienced that).
When I crawled out to grab Ben, who had drawn the short straw and was left in the wind until I could get his brothers fastened, he was gone. The entire stroller was gone.
I looked around the parking lot, and caught sight of the stroller/schooner just as it approached an eight-foot-high retaining wall, below which is an alley and all the dumpster-style accoutrement you would expect to find in an alley.
Ben was barreling right for it.
See, I normally put their baby bag in front of the wheels to keep the stroller from rolling away. But there was snow on the ground that day, so I didn't think applying the makeshift brakes would be necessary.
As I slipped and slid across the parking lot to catch Ben before he plummeted into a dumpster, I gently reminded myself that this could all have been avoided if I had only put the bag in front of the wheels. If only.
I caught the stroller a few feet before it reached the retaining wall, and I pulled it back to the car without looking to see how Ben was taking all of this. The wind had really whipped up, it was getting very cold, and I had five other kids waiting in the car.
So I pulled him across the snow to the car, and pulled the cover away from his face to check on him before putting his car seat in its base.
There looking up at me were the two brightest blue eyes and the gummiest smile I've ever seen. He even giggled a little when he saw my face.
The wind was still howling, and a few seconds earlier my smallest son had blown away. And he loved it.
I wish I had that kind of attitude.
The Chamber of Commerce suggests that the average wind in Cheyenne is somewhere between 12 and 15 miles per hour. For that average to be correct, there would have to be days with no wind at all.
I've lived in Cheyenne for 14 years, and I have never experienced such a day. In fact, by my own measure, if you've only been slammed in your own car door twice in any 12-month period, you're having a pretty good year.
But you get used to it. You pull your hat down a little further. Cake the hair product on a bit thicker. Hold onto your grocery bags a bit tighter.
And never, never take your eyes off your small children.
One day not long ago, it was my job to get all six children in the car and get them home safely. My wife had an evening meeting, and she trusted me to get them home, fed, bathed, and to sleep.
No problem. I have done this before.
I've written in this space about the rubber-necking that occurs when we take the triplet stroller out in public. But I've never had occasion to mention that it, too, exhibits many of the same qualities as a sail. That's because until that same day not that long ago, I didn't know.
I had managed to wedge all the girls through the back door of the Expedition and into their car seats. And I had even gotten two of the boys out of the stroller and into the car (working from back to front, of course; if you take them out from front to back, the damned stroller will flip over with the remaining baby still attached...not that I have ever experienced that).
When I crawled out to grab Ben, who had drawn the short straw and was left in the wind until I could get his brothers fastened, he was gone. The entire stroller was gone.
I looked around the parking lot, and caught sight of the stroller/schooner just as it approached an eight-foot-high retaining wall, below which is an alley and all the dumpster-style accoutrement you would expect to find in an alley.
Ben was barreling right for it.
See, I normally put their baby bag in front of the wheels to keep the stroller from rolling away. But there was snow on the ground that day, so I didn't think applying the makeshift brakes would be necessary.
As I slipped and slid across the parking lot to catch Ben before he plummeted into a dumpster, I gently reminded myself that this could all have been avoided if I had only put the bag in front of the wheels. If only.
I caught the stroller a few feet before it reached the retaining wall, and I pulled it back to the car without looking to see how Ben was taking all of this. The wind had really whipped up, it was getting very cold, and I had five other kids waiting in the car.
So I pulled him across the snow to the car, and pulled the cover away from his face to check on him before putting his car seat in its base.
There looking up at me were the two brightest blue eyes and the gummiest smile I've ever seen. He even giggled a little when he saw my face.
The wind was still howling, and a few seconds earlier my smallest son had blown away. And he loved it.
I wish I had that kind of attitude.
1 comment:
My sister, Diana Dellos, pointed the way to your blog. This is so darn funny. You are an excellent writer!
Holly McKamey Simoni
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