Oh Dear God

We are pretty easy going about Carson playing outside by himself.

We are currently living on 20 acres.

He could be eaten by a coyote.

He could fall into the pond.

He could pee on the electric horse fence and get the shock of his life.

He could try playing with the horses and get trampled.

But we don't worry.

We are stupid.

Unsupervised play is dangerous.

"Mommy, Daddy, look at me! I look so cool!"

OH MY GOD!

I nearly fainted. My heart almost stopped. My ears were ringing.

Unsupervised play outdoors = in daddy's car = dressing up in daddy's $200 (splurge of a lifetime-I swear I'll have them for the rest of my life) Ray Ban sunglasses!!!

Should I have so upset that Carson was playing around in the car? Yes!

Could he have knocked it out of gear and gone rolling down the hill? Probably!

Could he have gotten mud everywhere (newly detailed cars don't like that and their daddy's like it even less). Oh, more than likely!

BUT HOLY CRAP, the sunglasses! Bent? Scraped? Scratched? Broken? Oh Dear God, please let them be okay.

It took every ounce of control not to freak out. I gingerly pulled them off his face, and examined them like a new mother counting ten fingers and ten toes on her newborn.

No scratches, no dents, just about a 1000 grubby fingerprints.

Halla-frickin-luya!!!

We had a tender but firm mother-to-son discussion as to why you NEVER EVER play in the cars by yourself. And you NEVER, EVER, EVER, EVER touch Daddy's sunglasses.

I think I would rather have seen him pee on the electric fence. At least I know for sure he'd never do that again!