Take a peek at this photograph. Can you see the tranquility of a lovely little New England town, with its church spire, historic hall freshly painted yellow, flags unfurled, playground and field of dreams?

If you look more closely, can you see ME? I’m way, way, way at the other side of the field of dreams in front of the quaint picket fence. I’m waving at Barry, who is taking the photo from way, way, way at the other side of the field, up a rather steep winter sledding hill, near a road that runs alongside that side of the pastoral beauty.

I brought Barry to this charming place to better describe to him the crazy loud Grandma story that shattered the peace of that place earlier that sunny March day. Here’s the story:

Audrey and Matt were taking 5-year old William to a 10:00 am appointment and asked if I could watch 4-year old Alex, almost 3-year old Benjamin and 1-year old Henry for an hour or so. Of course, I said yes. It was such a gorgeous morning that I decided to take these 3 little guys to our local playground. NOTE: I had never taken these 3 guys together, anywhere, ever… by myself. But the sun. The feeling of Spring. The requests from Alex to take them to the playground. The playground is a very short drive. I just couldn’t resist. I quickly got all 3 of them in sneakers, light sweaters and hats. I packed a couple of diapers and wet wipes and bottles of water. I snapped them all in car seats and we were on our way. I was feeling rather accomplished.

But wait.

On the way to the playground, Alex asked if I could stop at my house for his Tonka Dump Trucks. The big ones. The ones big enough to sit in and roll down the hills. Alex, William and I had done this last summer… I call it summer sledding… and they loved it. Loved it. Somehow or other, the trucks stayed at my house all Fall and Winter and Alex knew exactly where they were.

Of course, I said yes, and stopped for a few moments to pack the 2 large trucks into the car. Within minutes, all 4 of us were romping on the playground’s bridges, rock climbing thing, slides, swings, see-saw and all. We were the only people on the playground that morning. Our company was a crew of men working on the outside of the building next to it… with dump trucks and backhoes. Noisy, but nice noise. I managed a quick text to Audrey to let her know where we were. I got back: “All 3 of them?”

Well… yeah.

Anyway, after a little while, Alex asked if we could summer sled in the trucks. I said yes and hauled the trucks out of the car. Alex began pushing one truck toward the other side of the field of dreams (you know, where Barry is standing to take the photo). Henry, who will be 2 in June, immediately began pushing the other truck behind his brother. Problem: Benjamin wanted a truck.

I felt confident that Henry would soon give up his truck because the hill was way, way, way over there and he was a little guy with a big truck. Benjamin would not budge because he did not have a truck. I pleaded with Ben to come along, but he stood his ground while Henry pushed along after Alex with the very speed of light. Within seconds, I knew I was in Grandma trouble. Is this what Audrey meant by, “All 3 of them?” I called to Alex to come back. He did. Immediately. But Henry? He kept moving along, pushing that truck faster and faster.

I told both Alex and Ben to come with me after Henry. Alex did. Ben wouldn’t move. Alex ran ahead to catch Henry as he began climbing that giant hill way, way, way on the other side of the field. I screamed to Henry. He kept pushing that truck. I turned to Ben, who had decided to run back toward the playground.

I knew if I ran to get Ben, Henry would already be up the hill and maybe at the street. I knew if I ran to get Henry, Ben would be on the playground all by himself with the noise of the real trucks drowning out my calls. I could see poor little Alex running to get Henry. I literally stood in the middle of the field and screamed, and I mean screamed, “BEN-JA-MIN.”

Ben stopped. I must have screamed so loud that the men with the real trucks stopped doing their real truck things. The morning calm was shattered with me screaming, “DON’T MOVE.”

I didn’t have a second to waste and ran full throttle toward Henry and Alex. I tore up that hill and swooped Henry into my arms and told Alex to run with me back to Ben. Henry was screaming at the sudden end to his truck adventure. Alex was screaming that we had left the truck behind. Benjamin was silent, frozen to his spot way, way, way at the other side of the field. He had never heard me scream like that. That I MEAN IT way.

As we ran to Ben, one truck man called out, “Is everything all right?”

I said, yes. But I think I meant, “All 3 of them?”

We all sat on the grass for awhile. Alex told me that summer sledding is only for boys 4 years or older. Ben told me he was very sorry. Henry just wanted to push around a truck.

Ah. I hope those men with the real trucks finish their work real fast so I can show up again at the field of dreams and playground.

So what was Barry’s response to this little tale of 2 Tonka Dump Trucks, 3 boys and 1 crazy loud Grandma? He said, “Why not get a couple more trucks so they all have one?” Men. Ya gotta love ’em.