Motherhood: Chaos

We decided to take a nice family quad ride to check my husband’s bear bait. You know. Just a wholesome outing involving heavy machinery, wilderness, and children with zero sense of self-preservation. What could possibly go wrong?

We were doubling up like some kind of feral outdoorsy sitcom. I had my 5-year-old on my quad—helmet crooked, arms locked around me like I was his emotional support human—while my husband had his 3-year-old, who was just along for the vibes. No fear. No thoughts. Just toddler confidence.

The trail was beautiful. Birds chirping. Engines humming. I briefly thought, Wow, we’re really doing this parenting thing. That was my first mistake.

About halfway there, we come across a tree down across the trail. Naturally. Because nature hates peace. My husband hops off his quad to clear it, leaving the quad running, still in gear, with the 3-year-old sitting on it—because surely the laws of physics and toddlers have an understanding.

They did not.

In the approximately three seconds it took my husband to turn his back, the 3-year-old decided it was time to dismount the quad like a tiny action hero. Somewhere in this maneuver, he hits the gas.

The quad suddenly goes into reverse like it’s possessed by Satan himself.

I watch in slow motion as the toddler flies off the quad and—BY THE GRACE OF EVERY FOREST GOD—lands perfectly into a hole. A HOLE. Like the earth opened up and said, “Not today, little dude.”

The quad, meanwhile, continues reversing and tips over directly where his body would have been.

Time stopped.

My soul left my body and filed for divorce.

I screamed my husband’s name in a way that probably alerted bears in neighboring provinces. My husband turned around to see his quad tipped, his child missing, and his entire life flashing before his eyes—specifically the part where he has to call his ex and explain why their child was briefly flattened by recreational equipment.

We both ran.

Panic. Chaos. Internal screaming. Me already rehearsing what I’d say at the funeral slash custody hearing.

And then—

We hear giggling.

Actual. Giggling.

We look down and there he is. Sitting in the hole. Completely untouched. No blood. No crying. No injuries. Just vibes. Living his best life like he didn’t just dodge death Final Destination–style.

He looks up at us, smiles, and giggles harder.

My husband and I? On the brink of cardiac arrest. Shaking. Pale. Mentally aged 15 years. I’m pretty sure my husband saw God, and God was disappointed in us.

We scoop him up, frantically checking for injuries while he’s laughing like, “Wow! Again!”

Meanwhile, my 5-year-old is on my quad yelling, “DID YOU SEE THAT?!” like it was the coolest stunt he’s ever witnessed.

No bears had touched the bait.

But the forest absolutely tried to take one of our children.

We packed up, finished the ride, and drove home knowing two things for certain:

1. That kid is indestructible.

• We will absolutely be telling this story forever.

• And we will NEVER leave a quad in gear again—because apparently our toddlers are built for chaos and violence.