This past Sunday was our anniversary, and to celebrate we went away for the weekend to Eureka Springs. We stayed in a small log cabin and watched the deer roaming all around the area. We walked the steep streets of the town, checking out quaint little shops and even quainter people. We walked through the supposedly-haunted Crescent Hotel on Saturday night, but we weren't accosted by any supernatural beings. We lingered over a wonderful anniversary meal, and strolled again, looking at the Christmas lights and the Living Windows displays in some of the shops downtown. It's nice to get away from the everyday, to relax, and to spend uninterrupted time together.
But we couldn't go to Eureka Springs without visiting the site of one of our funny family stories. We hadn't visited the town since our children were small. When we were there back then, we took the kids out to see Christ of the Ozarks, a seven-story-tall statue of Jesus, high up on a mountain. Our daughter was only four or five I guess, and she'd climbed up the hill, near the statue, and then had turned and started back down as I watched from below. Things went fine at first, but then, as she came downhill she began to pick up speed. I mean a lot of speed. Before she knew it, she was flying down the hill, totally out of control, her steps covering huge amounts of ground, her eyes big as saucers. She was terrified.
And I was laughing hysterically. I realize this is not a "good mom" kind of thing, but it's the truth. I laughed so hard I grew weak. I positioned myself to catch her, but at the last minute she somehow changed course, bounced off a bush and then into me, knocking us both down. My husband witnessed it all. In his defense, he was too far away to help us. In my defense, he was laughing too.
For some reason, this story amuses me a lot more than it does my daughter.