Yesterday, I decided to shirk my usual afternoon chores while Scotty slept and watch a special about the Royal Wedding. We all have to play hooky once in a while, right? So in an attempt to get into the spirit of things, I poured myself a spot of tea and had a piece of toast as I watched "Wild About Harry." I felt as rebellious as my favorite prince.
Anyways, the delicious sugar high that comes with the consumption of processed carbs is always followed by that bone-crushing low, so during a play date at a friend's house later that afternoon, I tried desperately to not fall asleep on her lawn as the kids played. I was still in a massive fog as I dragged Scotty home and fed him dinner. Brian came home mid-supper and we did the usual changing of the guard since planned to hit the gym that night. But with my weary exhaustion, I wasn't sure I was going to be able to get through an entire boot camp class without passing out.
No matter, I still went. These thighs aren't going to tone themselves.
And as I peeled out of our subdivision and onto the busy street, I heard a very distinct "thump-thump-THUMP!" from my car and happen to catch sight of an object go flying off the roof. Oh crap, what was that? I watched as the driver behind me narrowly miss the object as it landed squarely in the middle of the street. It was heavy, rectangular, and flat.
Scotty's truck book.
A quick check of the time revealed that I didn't have enough time to whip a u-turn and still make it to my class on time, not to mention the traffic, so I left the book to fend for itself in the middle of the street. This decision made me strangely emotional (I've been strangely emotional the last few days...so annoying) and I actually blinked tears away as I watched as the book get smaller and smaller in the distance. I'll pick it up when I come home in an hour, I told myself. Stop crying. You are going to boot camp. There is no crying in boot camp.
The class very quickly took my mind off the book. (insert labored breathing here). It wasn't until I was home again, splayed out on the couch post-shower bemoaning the sorry state of my sore muscles to Brian did it hit me...I forgot to get the book.
We both looked at each other like, "Well...now what?"
My hair was wet. It was 9:05pm. I was barefoot and wearing pajamas. The last thing I wanted to do was head out again in search of this book. The same book that I stupidly left on the roof of the car when I was taking Scotty out of his car seat earlier that day all because I had eaten toast at 2pm in the afternoon in my attempt to feel British and put myself in a giant carb-induced coma.
Oh Wills and Kate, I bet you didn't realize the extent of your influence.
Perhaps the best part, as I slunk off to the laundry room to find my flip-flops was Brian yelling after me, "Be sure to take a flash light!" Considering we had been down this road several weeks ago, when the fire alarm in Scotty's room started chirping due to a low battery, I knew we didn't have a normal flashlight. Instead, we used a parrot-shaped toy with a light in its mouth that sings "Fa-la-la-la-LA!" when ever you press its tail.
So that' how I ended up in the middle of the street on a Wednesday night, clad in pajama pants and my old IU sweatshirt, clutching a singing parrot flashlight in my hand as I searched feverishly for Scotty's book.
Laugh if you may, but I guarantee your day will come. It won't be the same as mine (hopefully), but maybe you'll wrestle a beloved lovie from the jaws of a giant dog. Or drive four hours back to the restaurant where his favorite truck was left. Or why you'll sew the nose back on her favorite rabbit until there's no more stuffing left, in an effort to make her bun-bun "just like new" again.
It's not because you want to do it. Or the fact that you need to do it. You do it just because it's what you do. Because that's what it means to be a parent.
Editor's note: I'm happy to report that I was able to successfully rescue the truck book. It was in surprisingly good shape, considering it had been lying in the middle of a road for three hours. Very few tire or tread marks. Only one car passed me when I was running to get the book. Although they gave me a very strange look, I really didn't care because Scotty has his book back. Hooray!