Out of the Mouths of Wild Boys

Today, in what I can only say was a very uncharacteristic move for me considering I'd gotten three very interrupted hours of sleep last night, I took the youngest three Ohboys to the park down the road.  My eight-year-old was supremely mad at the world because I'd interrupted his intense schedule of playing with the iPad.  He informed me of a plan he was hatching that involved running back to our house as soon as we got out of the car.

"Good luck with that!"  I grumbled.  "We're, like, four miles away from home."

His expression changed, suddenly curious instead of crabby.  "Four miles?  Or four feet?" He wondered.

"Yeah, definitely four miles.  It's a long way.  It would take you a very long time to walk from here.  I used to walk here on my horse."  I pointed out. 

He was quiet for a second, then asked, "Which horse?"  

My stomach wrenched.  I hadn't talked about him much with the kids since he'd been gone.  "Moe."

The kids asked me if I was going to do that again with Moe, and I reminded them that Moe was gone, that he was in 'Horsie Heaven', remember?  I hated having to say those words out loud again, especially to my boys.  My voice cracked and I could feel my lower lip tremble.  

He mulled this over.  "I think he is in real Heaven with all the animals, and we will see him again."

Tears sprung to my eyes, and I choked out, "Me too.  Do you guys miss Moe?"

Two of the boys said, "Yeah."

For those of you who haven't met my six-year-old, let's just say he's rather, uh, intense. He doesn't talk much, but when he does, it usually booms from him in low, rumbling voice, as if the words are threatening to rip him from the seams.  

As far as I could remember, my six-year-old hadn't mentioned Moe's passing much, but he surprised me by suddenly growling, "I wish Moe could come back for a few days."  He repeated this several times, growing progressively louder to be sure I'd heard him.  

So, of course, I drove up to the parking lot looking like a bleary-eyed freak, and was able to cross off my daily blubberfest a little early.  My kids had been missing my silly old horse, too.