It Didn't Seem Like a Bad Idea...

We moms think about lots of things that might kill our kids. Speeding cars. Swimming pools. Crazed maniacs. Errantly-swallowed whole grapes.

Amish farmers, though? Not so much.

My friends, add it to the list. The Amish are to be feared.

We've been away this week (sorry to have vanished). At the lake. And this morning, we used a gift certificate DH won at a conference for a free sleigh ride at an Amish farm. Horse-drawn, candle lamps, the whole shebang. Only, it hasn't yet snowed so the sleigh was mounted up on wheels. We got to the farm right on time, met the farmer, two dogs, and a horse named Bud, and started on our way. Clippity clop, clippity clop.

Down the road. Clippity clop. Kids are laughing. Poop jokes are flying. We're chatting with the farmer. All's well with the world. Clippity clop.

We turn onto a dirt path. It looks a little narrow and it's way muddy from the rain last night, but whatever. I hear the farmer say, "Bud? BUD?" the way you do to a child who's about to pick up a knife. And Bud suddenly jerks to the left, pulls a 180, and starts to run.

In slow motion, the sleigh tips. DH and I throw our weight to the other side, but my kids go flying out. As if they've been catapaulted. I watch them fly up and over and splash down in a muddy stream, face down.

I scream bloody murder. DH yells "STOP THE DAMN CAR!" The farmer pulls. The horse slows. I grab both sides of the sleigh, heave myself over the edge, hit the mud, and run as fast as I can back to my babies. By now, they're both standing up (thank God). They're covered with mud. The little one is hysterically crying. The big one is laughing and yelling, "Do it again! Do it again!" DH goes for the boy while I scoop up the girl, hug her tight, and put her back down on the velvet seat of the sleigh, mud be dammed.

All's well that ends well. Eight hours later, the mud has been washed off, the kids are laughing about it all, and I have sore knuckles and an aching back. My visions of my children either under the wheels of the carriage or lifeless in the water have subsided. The farmer likely spent his day scrubbing seats and blankets and calling his lawyer--he really felt awful and was very nervous--and we're thinking the horse may be glue by now. I'm vindicated in my lifelong aversion to horses, by the way. Toldja so.

Add the Amish to your list, ladies. Avoid them. Keep your children away.

As DH said in the car on the way home, "You know, this wouldn't have happened if they'd been home playing video games."

Happy new year, gang. Let's hope it's less eventful.

(I swear to all that's holy, this story is true. But I'd never have believed it if I hadn't been there.)