Lost and Found

"Mommy? Are we going to the library again?"

"Yes, Jack." I replied roughly. "And why are we having to turn around and go back to the Library?"

"I don't know."

"Yes, you do."

"Because I forgot Popo?"

"Exactly." I merged from Overton onto 280, taking a moment to be extremely thankful for the new lane that allowed me to accomplish that task before any new gray hairs cropped up. "And did I not BEG you this morning not to take Popo?"

"Uh-huh."

"And when you said you NEEDED to take Popo so he could see the decorations, did I not ask you to let him ride in Mommy's purse or your backpack?"

"But then he couldn't see anything, Mom."

"Right, and then I said BE SURE that you don't leave him, so we wouldn't have to do exactly what we're doing right now. Didn't I?"

"Are we almost to the Library?"

"Almost."

"Is is short or long."

Turning onto Church Street, I reply, "Not long." We travel in silence the rest of the way, and park in the exact spot we left over an hour before. Out of the car, and crossing the street. "Car!" Jack shouts. "You hafta look both ways, mom." We wait for the car (which wasn't THAT close, I tell myself) and head for the entry.

"Why are you runnin' me so fast, mom?"

"Because we have to find Popo and get home before nap time," I say. My mind is on automatic systems check. Sam is sick with bronchitis and I want to get home in time to see if his antibiotics are working. If not, we need to schedule a re-check with the pediatrician. We're out of apple juice and pedialyte. Do I need to go to the grocery this afternoon or can it wait until tomorrow when Jack is in school? How much longer can the dry cleaning wait before they sell our clothes? Wow, I really need to pee. By this time we're across the street and in the door. Since we need to check the bathrooms for Popo anyway, might as well make a pit stop first.

Bladder empty. Still no Popo. On to the rocket ship and the reading stations. There, beside the headphones for the audiobook, lies the errant Popo. "Here he is!" I say, using a voice that I hope implies 'Do not do this again.'

"Oh, Popo!" Jack cries. "I'm so sorry I forgot you, Popo!" He cradles him like a baby and makes soothing noises. "I didn't mean to leave you," he assures his ragged but ever faithful friend.

I soften. "Does Popo feel better now?" I ask as we walk toward the door and step out into the bright cold October sun.

"He was afraid without me."

"I bet he was."

Back in the van I fasten Jack into his car seat. "Popo, too!" he insists. I wedge Popo atop Jack's tummy facing forward, safely under the restraints. We are homeward bound once again.

"Mom?"

"What, baby."

"You're the best mom in the whole world Alabama."

No, but I have the best Jack ever.