Saturday night, we went to the Drag Strip that is within earshot of our home. During the summer months, the racetrack noises are our soundtrack. We are out gardening, and hearing race noise. We are barbecuing and hearing race noise. We are going to bed at 11:00 at night sometimes, and hearing race noise. Two years ago, Scott raced his motorcycle on the Drag Strip a couple of times, and he has it in his bones. It is a little bit challenging to be so close, and not be participating. We have plans to get a car for him in another couple of years, but right now, this year, we’ve been learning to run our farm and we’ve seriously not had the kind of free time that racing requires. But Saturday Night, we went to be spectators.
As loud and bright, and earsplitting as that was, the rest of the night was an amazing blend of downtime, breathing, sitting next to my hubby and snuggling in the stands, and watching our kids make friends with the other kids there at the track.
They are finally at the age where we don’t have to be right with them every second. We can sit back and watch them closely, but give them space. They were racing each other in the dirt at the base of the stands. Other kids their age came and joined them. They were racing up and down in front of all the grown-ups. Bean’s cowboy boot kept falling off and he would have to stop running to go get it back on. He got attention for it, so that is the way he ran every single time the rest of the night.
When they would get worn out, they would sit in a little huddle and draw pictures in the sand with their fingers. At one point, they were all lying down, making dust angels – like snow angels, but in the dirt. The people behind us were laughing about kids and how if they’re not dirty, they weren’t really playing hard. That is truly the case for my boys.
Sitting and watching the interactions with the other kids, and enjoying our kids from afar was surprisingly entertaining and relaxing. Towards the end of the evening, a toddler came out and wanted to play with the group of kids. My Ben, at eight-years old, was the oldest kid there, and I was impressed with how gentle he was with this little guy. During a couple of races, he ran slow enough for the little guy to beat him, and once he let the toddler tackle him and he fell to the ground. I heard other parents’ ooh’s and aah’s and that did my heart exceedingly good.