We are so very, VERY lucky today.

We were at a local Greek festival (more on that later) early this afternoon. After a temper tantrum because my two-year-old son couldn't stay in the blow-up dinosaur castle thing (I had to go inside and retrieve him, making my husband crack up ... ha ha, you oversized bastard, your turn next), we opted to go home.

As we were walking back to our car, my husband got paged and had to answer a phone call. I was walking after my son. Now, we are having SERIOUS ISSUES with the listening part. My son turns off his hearing and takes off, with no mind to anything around him. I am two steps behind him. We are approaching an entrance to another parking lot. I am looking for cars coming into the parking lot. I couldn't see any coming through the parking lot, that would be turning the corner to come out the entrance I was looking at.

Right as I'm telling my son to "Stop!" and "Wait for Mommy!", he steps out into the lane and a car SCREECHES TO A STOP. Had my son been another half of a step, he would have been hit by this car - an INNOCENT party. My son was way, way too close from their bumper.

I pulled him back by the arm to the curb, and I sat him down so fast I think his head spun around. I grabbed my son's cheeks, put my face so close to his and kept saying, "DO YOU KNOW HOW LUCKY YOU ARE! DO YOU KNOW HOW LUCKY WE ARE!", all the while crying (well, no, BAWLING). He was scared, and he started crying.

Luck, divine intervention, something. There was a hand, I swear to you, that stopped the car. And I, forever, will be eternally grateful for that hand, too. In fact, as my son was being whisked away to the car by a very scared Daddy, I sat on the curb, sobbed, and thanked the Lord He saved my baby. Yes, folks - it was THAT close.

On the ride home (me in the backseat, comforting a hiccuping sobbing child - and a sobbing, hiccuping mommy), I could only think about two little kids from my hometown: one killed in a tragic head on collision on a country road, and another little boy lost in a snowstorm, all within years of each other.

I knew that second little boy very well. He grew up in my church. I remember when he was a baby and they used him as Baby Jesus in the church play. He had three older sisters (the oldest just older than me by a year). He was a wonderful little boy.

We had an awesome blizzard in 1997. It dumped so much snow on our state, burying all fences and livestock in our little community. This little friend of mine was 10. He was helping his dad in the barn. He was going to go from the barn to the house, but he never made it to the house. The blizzard was so bad - he got lost, turned the wrong direction. Someone said he maybe tried following the dog, but the dog knew how to get back home.

The town rallied in the meantime. They sent out tractors and anything that could move in that snow. 4-wheelers. Snowmobiles. People came from everywhere. Including one of my dad's hired helpers. Tim found him the next day, after the snow had stopped, miles away. He had stumbled all that way, in the freezing cold, looking for his house. When they got him into town finally and the medical service was waiting, they put in fluid to warm him up. The word was that that actually stopped his barely beating heart.

A sad story. A heartbreaking, heart-wrenching story.

I hope to NEVER know what his parents felt. Parents should never bury their child. You do everything you can do to keep them safe. You put up safety gates and stick plastic bits into the sockets in your wall. You move the Clorox from under the sink to somewhere else 'just in case' he gets in through that safety lock. You make sure car seats are installed properly. You move away the choking hazards. You are always on the damned defense. ALWAYS.

And they still might get lost in a blizzard.

And they still might be in a car, driven by a big brother who doesn't see the oncoming pickup with a mom and five kids coming up over the hill.

And the still might step out into traffic.

But today ... we are just so. very. lucky.

BIG FAT EDIT: Why, you might ask? After I wrote this post, we went next door to celebrate our neighbor's son's 1st birthday. Because there were kids of all ages, they got a giant blow-up castle. While the rest of the kids are hanging out watching a puppet show, my kid is jumping around in the castle. He's bouncing around, all happy. All of a sudden, the castle starts collapsing, and my baby is inside. Apparently, a FUSE had blown and it dropped like rocks. He was inside crying, yelling for me. I'm trying to hold up an end so he can breathe. We have to yell for help. Four guys are doing something and one guy dives in and gets my son. He's fine. I'm not. I'm going to drink tonight, folks. LOTS.

Oh, and I am trying to upload a photo of the castle, but BLOGGER SUCKS.

ONE LAST EDIT ... maybe:

Click here for the official photo of the Castle of Doom and Death