The Genesis of an Action Plan

It’s post bath time and both our little energy balls are flying around the room, bursting through a variety of pillow road blocks, set up by yours truly. Lucas prefers the brute force approach, with the singular goal of an explosion of feathers for each running of the gauntlet, while Mateo is more aligned with speed and vertical, like a mini gazelle, that’s not yet worried about getting gobbled up by a lion.

It was during this escapade that Lucas delivered his latest edict- “You will now call me Thunderhorse! My name is Thunderhorse”.  Mateo, always questing for equality, too, chose a new name, “Lightning”, which I thought was apropos, though he did soften it up a bit when blending into the animal kingdom- “Lightning Bug”. I also learned that trash talking in men’s competitive sports is an innate behavior, within five minutes, Lucas could be heard emphatically- “COME ON, LET’S GOOOOOO LADYBUG!”. Not to be outdone, I begin taunting Lucas with the derisive slur “Thunderbunny!”. He likes it not.

At some point, it dawns on Lucas that bedtime is fast approaching and he needs to set the wheels in motion. When taken with excitement, he speaks very fast and assumes that all of his experiences were also ours, often leading to confusion. Alas, I get it, Thunderhorse was drawing things up in the sand and I was an integral part of the plan.

In summary, the next day, we were to take the car out driving, until we see a horse, at which point I pull over, coax the horse towards me, secure it with one hand and launch Lucas, errr, Thunderhorse on top of the real horse with the other hand and with my third hand, promptly smack the horse on its back side, sending them off on their way. I was on a need to know basis, so I cannot tell you about the second half of the plan, but Thunderhorse showed no concern about how he would return in time for bed.

This is quite funny, unless of course, the next day you have reason to take Thunderhorse and Lightning Bug in the car, dreading the possibility of coming across a horse the entire trip. “Are we there yet?” and “Can you drive with one hand“ are suddenly sounding a lot better.

And then it happened. We saw the horse. I stopped the car. I grabbed the helmet. Lucas jumped on. And off they went.

Well, okay, maybe it wasn’t exactly like that. We might have made a phone call, arranged for a ride. What is for certain is that the idea of Thunderhorse galloping off into the sunset is a much different scenario, when you’re in your pajamas before bed, running around the house, telling everyone your new name, then say, when you’re face to knee with a magnificently powerful creature that could send you over the moon with a simple flick of the hips.

It took Thunderhorse a little time to adjust, but it wasn’t long before the speed demon residing just below the surface took over, the pace quickened and the smile widened. And right on cue,  Andrea begins reciting the litany of reasons we should not be going so fast, though they seemed to just get lost in the wind. Well, that’s our story at least and Thunderhorse and I are sticking to it.