"Dad!" Paige exclaimed, "There's a hole in the back of our van!"
With all of our moving, we hadn't been to the ranch since the beginning of the summer. The kids were ecstatic that we were finally spending the weekend there.
Traci and I walked onto the gravel driveway where Curtis and Tate were playing. With rocks.
There sure was a hole in the back window, a hole the size of a softball. Cracks had spider webbed across the entire windo. Just looking at it brought a sheet of glass pebbles raining down.
Though they were standing just feet from the van, neither Curtis nor Tate had any idea how it had happened.
Curtis was street-smart enough to quietly flee the scene of the crime. Tate, however, chose to linger.
"Tate," I asked, "What happened to the window?"
"Did you guys hit it with a rock?"
"No. Maybe something fell on it."
"Like a rock?" I asked.
But that's as close as we got to a confession. Even as we drove home, with our makeshift garbage-window flapping in the wind, no one was quite sure how the window had been broken.
(Tonight Traci's dad asked Tate about it. "Tate, did a rock break the window?" "Yes," he replied, before quickly adding,"but Curtis and I didn't throw it.")
Though I spent the afternoon stewing in vehicular frustrations, the kids had a pretty good day.
|Helping Grandma paint the gate|
|Helping Grandpa saw up the tree that was blocking the road|
|And riding in the back of the truck|
Tomorrow morning I've got a date with Techna Glass, where I'll find out just how much a weekend at the ranch is going to cost me.