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A minute later, Johnny and Jack, the other two energetic boys, join the scene.
“Let’s capture a moment before we dive in,” I suggest, extracting my phone and guiding them toward a massive cow statue. “Okay, boys, say moo!”
Their adorable attempts at moos, accompanied by cheesy smiles, tug at my heartstrings. Soon, they swarm around me, a whirlwind of excitement and curiosity, each vying for attention and clamoring to share their thoughts. Amidst the joyful chaos, I mentally bookmark a luxurious bubble bath for later, after I tuck Milo into bed in his new room.
“All right, Milo, how about heading to the science exhibit inside?” I suggest, still marveling at the odd pairing of science and a farm show. “Winston, you’re up for watching the cows give birth. Jack, the rodeo is calling your name. And, Johnny, I know a milkshake is at the top of your list.”
“Yes!” they all answer in unison. At least we’re in agreement on that front.
“All right, here’s the plan. From the calf cam, it seems like no cow is about to give birth right now, so we’ll have to keep an eye on that. Jack, there’s a rodeo show in half an hour, starting at nine,” I inform him. “Milo, there’s a fascinating lesson on the science behind cow DNA at one or a stargazing session half an hour before that.”
“Stars!” Milo exclaims, bouncing excitedly, his glasses teetering on the edge of his nose.
“Perfect. That gives us plenty of time to grab a milkshake and a snack in between,” I conclude, folding up the map. “To the rodeo!” I announce, setting the tone for our adventurous day ahead.
All right, so I may have gotten ahead of myself in my excitement.
We rush through the lively market, the hum of the crowd and the vibrant energy propelling us as we ascend the metal stairs of the amphitheater, determined to make it before showtime. Our seats are in the nosebleed section, far removed from the opulence of the front arena boxes, with their extra wide cushioned chairs and gourmet popcorn. That doesn’t faze me, though, and my four boys are relishing the altitude, playing rodeo clowns and pretending to spur bulls in midair. Their joyful antics make my heart swell with affection. I snap pictures with my phone, freezing these precious memories to share with Winston’s mom later.
The stands are a lively sea of people, a diverse array of ages and sizes all coming together for the love of the rodeo. Enthralled, the kids’ eyes widen with wonder as they watch the bulls bucking and riders skillfully maneuvering in the ring. Stray strands of hay drift through the air like delicate wisps of cotton candy, adding a touch of whimsy to the atmosphere.
I’m unsure if they are paying close attention to the rodeo, but their laughter and excitement are infectious. Despite my initial anxiety about watching them in this bustling setting, I feel a little more at ease, swept up in their joy and enthusiasm. This newfound calm settles deeper when I receive a text from Matty about half an hour later.
Matty:Hey, gorgeous. Pulling in. It’s a madhouse in here. Where are you?
Me:Rodeo, meet us at the cafeteria.
Matty:Save a milkshake for me.
I can’t help but let out a soft snort. If Matty wants a milkshake, he’ll just have to join the line with the rest of us.
“Lottie.” Milo rushes over, tiny beads of sweat forming on his forehead. “We’re starving,” he drawls, sounding suspiciously like Matty with his charming Southern accent. It’s adorable, and I’m sure Matty will love hearing about it later.
A twinge of sadness pricks at me that Matty couldn’t watch the rodeo with us.
“Are you sure you want to go?” I turn away from the stadium, where a woman valiantly attempts to train a wild horse. It pains me too much to watch. I can’t bear to see any of them get hurt, as is so frequently the case in such competitions.
“If we leave now, we won’t get crushed in the crowd,” Milo replies with undeniable logic. The other three boys circle around me, each wearing a pleading expression.
Honestly, I’m not about to tell them no.
“Okay,” I agree, glancing behind them and noticing a few others seem to have had the same idea. “We’ll stick together,” I instruct. “Single file to the cafeteria, and don’t let go of your buddy.”
Milo and Winston grab each other’s hands, their friendship evident in how their fingers interlock. Johnny and Jack follow suit, forming a little human chain. We venture off toward the bustling cafeteria, ready to tackle the food stalls and keep our adventure going.
Unease simmers in my gut, a concoction of nerves and excitement brewing within me. I remind myself that we’ll be all right, despite the swarm of children around us. Rising from my seat, I reach for Milo’s small hand, and we wade through the energetic crowd toward the stairs. The press of bodies makes me break into a light sweat—not because of the November chill outside, but due to the sheer number of kids filling the air with their youthful enthusiasm.
As we step into a long hallway, I pause against the wall and take a quick headcount—four little heads accounted for. I exhale slowly, clutching Milo’s hand once again and leading the way toward the cafeteria, where I know the milkshake line awaits.
“Ms. Hart,” Winston calls out just before we reach the line.
I turn to find Winston doing a little dance. “Bathroom break?” I inquire, catching on to his urgent need.
“Please,” he pleads.
I hadn’t entirely thought this through. My expectation was for Matty to have caught up with us by now to handle the boys’ restroom needs, but he’s not here, and I can’t venture into the men’s restroom, but taking four boys into the ladies’ room poses its own dilemma.
Scanning the area for a family restroom, I come up empty, finding only gender specific options. I nibble on my lip, pondering the best course of action. Ultimately, I decide to guide the four of them to the restroom, hoping it will suffice for the time being.
