I’ve had a little time to contemplate the tale I’m about to tell and the more I stew the events over in my mind the more I wonder how I get myself into these predicaments. It all started a few weeks back when my darling little girls suggested we visit the river to throw rocks. We hadn’t been down near the water for a while and it was high time we test the thickness of the ice with numerous flying projectiles. As you see the ice is receding nicely and the little ones had a great time. Molly looks a little pained as it was kind of cold still even though Polly shed her winter coat for more Canadian summertime attire. We headed home after being gone for way to long as Milly warned us to be back before she had to go some where. We jumped in the truck with Ringo in the front. And the girls in the back. Here’s where the pictures end as the tale starts to turn muddy. We headed back the way we came which just so happen to be over an increasingly soupy mess of mud and clay. I figured since we got in we should be able to get out. I no more than make it half way to Barnabas and Betty’s Bog when the wheels start spinning and the girls start squealing. We are stuck. (Some of you may add the word Again.) No matter how much I rocked the truck back and forth there was no way to get that blessed truck out of the mess unless someone pushed. Now Ringo is tough but he is only seven years old. And the truck does have a choke so if I just set it right the wheels would spin and as long as Ringo could steer I could apply the needed muscle to get out of the mess. It worked. All too well. The truck started moving way faster than I imagined it would and I saw my children’s lives flash before my eyes. The truck headed straight for the river while Ringo was trying his darndest to steer this wild animal to safety. I tried jumping in the window but Ringo just so happen to veer towards me when I did that and I ended up slamming my head against the door jam. Yes, my son hit me with the truck. I felt like I was run over and stood there in a daze. If it was the NFL I’m sure I would have been carted off the field as a potentially concussed victim. I said the quickest prayer I’ve ever said while that jumping jalopy missed two or three trees by an inch or two. Too bad the mirror hangs out eight inches. Luckily there was some undergrowth next to the trees so the truck stalled as it slammed into the debris. The girls didn’t take too kindly being the front row spectators that they were so they quickly fled the hit and run scene and stood back a few hundred yards as Ringo and I attempted to get unstuck from the dead trees. A bit of rocking back and forth and we were on our way. I knew of a secret back entry way that probably wasn’t all that muddy so we headed off that way. It was muddy but we barreled through to the fence line. Only problem was there is a fence in the way. I had to lift the barb wires up and push the lower ones down while someone drove the truck through. Ringo wasn’t too keen on being the designated driver but I convinced him his second driving experience couldn’t be worse than his first so he reluctantly moved over to the drivers seat. I adjusted the choke and showed him how to lift the clutch just right and directed him to push the clutch down when he got through the fence. There was a big field in front so couldn’t foresee anything going wrong with my plan. Well, he headed through just great but kind of panicked as I yelled at him when he went past and he veered to the immediate left and hit a fence post. Broke the sucker right off. Good thing the truck is solid. Didn’t hurt it at all. I swore the kids to secrecy as we headed home but the first words out of Polly’s mouth as we walked through the door was “Ringo hit a fence post and almost went in the river.” Darn kids.   I would have gotten away with it. There was only a small amount of dirt on the truck. Although I would have had to do some quick thinking to explain the black eye from being hit by the truck. I’m not sure how I get myself into these messes but I’m sure glad I’m already married so I don’t have to pretend I’m cool. Although, if I wasn’t already married I might drive a bigger truck.