and mud on my truck!
Sing it with me now! Buh buh buuuuuh, buh buh buh buuuuuuh . . . .
Okay, snapping back to the present and not the sixties, or was it early seventies?
Against a negative feeling, I agreed to take Termite duck hunting at a different place this morning. Last night, I told him more than once I did not want to go. I did not stand my ground because I just didn’t want to face the cold, so I thought.
It was more like a wild duck chase than a duck hunt, except the boat never made it into the water. As we bounced along the make-shift road, which got soggier as we went, I thought we might be in trouble. When my front tires hit a slough, I knew we were in trouble.
No, my Chevy is NOT a four-wheel drive. She sank, and honey, she sank good. I ranted and I raved and I raved and I ranted some more–as mad at myself as I was at Termite.
Mad at myself for not checking out this launch in the daylight and for letting him pressure me last night into making the trip this morning.
Mad at him for not realizing how serious this situation could become–he had to remain cool in front of his new buddy.
In the cold, pre-dawn darkness, we unhooked the boat trailer and pushed it 50 yards back down that rutted road and off into some grass on somewhat more solid ground. Then they found things to put under my tires, so I could get a grip while they pushed from the front. And I can honestly say, this is one time I would have much rather been in a cold duck blind than where I was.
Once they had the boat hooked up to the truck again, I turned to the friend, speaking as calmly as I could.
“Sorry, buddy, but this hunt is officially over before it began.”
Let’s just say, I don’t think any other boy would have wanted to be in the passenger seat of my truck on that ride home.
In tones amazingly like a banchee . . .
“And one more thing SON! Next time I tell you I don’t want to go hunting because I have a bad feeling, TAKE MY WORD FOR IT. Don’t keep bugging me about it. Take NO as NO and let it go. I swear, son if you don’t become a lawyer, I think you missed your calling. ” *
“Oh wow, Mom, look at that!” (*see what I mean?)
“HAND ME MY CAMERA, AND DON’T TRY TO CHANGE THE SUBJECT, SON. YOU ARE NOT OFF THE HOOK YET!”
“Try it without the flash, Mom.”
“Stop with the diversions. You’re still gonna rinse all the mud off my truck when we get back to the camp AND you owe me a truck wash.”
Lesson Number 1009 I have learned being Termite’s mom:
Never, under any circumstances, believe him when he says,
“I’m sure, Mom, let’s just go.”
Muddy but (somewhat) wiser,