Little Lost Grayson

I had the privilege of taking my four boys to a soccer clinic. The two older ones, Jackson and Conner, were involved in the clinic. The little ones, Grayson and Max, were just there so that I could watch them and help Britt go visiting teaching. I was letting Grayson play on the playground and would check to make sure he was there every couple of minutes. Grayson was up a staircase, down a slide, across a bridge, etc. I spent the time between checking on Grayson to play with Max who was sitting on the stroller drinking from his sippy cup and holding a soccer ball, throwing and just generally smiling and giggling while daddy kicked it in front of him.

A few minutes after the last time I saw Gray, I started looking for him again. There were several other little towheads (I have used this word before, but wanted a defination. Here is one for everyone else. In colonial times, families grew their own flax to make into fabric for clothing. Transforming the flax into thread was a complicated, involved process with many time-consuming steps. After the flax was harvested, it was soaked in water for several days to soften it so the inner fibers could be removed from the stalk. To separate the long, thin fibers from the shorter, coarser ones, the flax was pulled through a bed of nails or combed in a process called "towing." The shorter fibers that were extricated were of a lesser quality and were called "tow." This led to the term "towheads" to describe people, particularly children, whose hair resembled these strands.) with blue shirts on so I had to look at shoes and shorts to decide if it was him or not. After a couple of minutes of not seeing him I started to worry that someone had taken one of the three little boys that looked the same, which was mine. I was calling out his name, other moms were helping me look and I was beginning to get a little worried.

I start looking further out just in case he decided the playground wasn't that fun anymore. Looked in the parking lot, by the bathrooms and finally see a tiny little blond boy with blue on on the far end of the field by another parking lot about 150 yards away. I leave Max right by the playground in his stroller and start to run to the little boy calling out, "Grayson, Grayson." He starts to sprint to me and seems a little upset. I let him close the gap to not get to far away from Max. I finally get the little rascal in my arms and give him a big hug. I ask him if he was scared and he says, "Scared." I ask him if he is ever going to wander off again and he says "yeah." I then rephrase for my little mischief maker, "Are you ever going to get lost again?" "NO, NO, scared."

Needless to say I wonder how I am going to keep tabs on 5 little active munchkins as the grow up????