Real friends fish your kid’s plastic Elmo out of the street.
Why do I say this? I’ve written about Avery’s penchant for traveling around town with half her toy box. Tonight was one of her finer moments, as she brought two stuffed ducks, Gross Bear and a miniature plastic Elmo clad in scuba gear to a local pub.
Before anyone jumps my case and asks me whether I’m one of these terrible moms who likes their playgroups shaken, not stirred, the answer is no.
The answer is no because I haven’t found a playgroup like that yet.
But I digress.
Anyway, this pub has been a Decatur fixture for some time, but because they just started doing their own microbrews, Professor Kathy and I decided it would be nice to take a break and head over there at the end of the day. When we were done with our respective pints (Mine was a restorative brew; I believe a nice stout is good for fighting off seasonal bugs), we gathered up all the stuffed animals and assorted kiddie detritus and headed out.
Which brings me to this (Some of you, I know, have done it. And if you say you haven’t, you’re lying your asses off.): You’ve got the kid, the car keys, a handful of other random stuff. You put the random stuff on the roof of the car, you unlock the door, you put the kid in the carseat and then you put the stuff that’s on the roof in the car, sometimes without even really looking at it.
Yeah, that was me tonight. And the plastic Elmo that my daughter can’t live without, sleep without or eat without right now somehow remained on the rooftop as I plopped myself into the driver’s seat, put the key in the ignition and turned out of the parking lot, only to hear that little red bastard rat-a-tat-tatting across the top of my car and into the street.
“Ohhhh shit,” Professor Kathy and I said in unison, realizing what was afoot.
Ed note: Mercifully, the wee one did not go on a “Oh shit” repeat-a-thon.
I turned the Starship Nerdterprise around (I wasn’t going to, but worried about the DFACS-attracting implications of such a bonehead move) and Kathy popped out, eventually finding our little kiddie icon and saving him from sure destruction.
A child rejoiced. A mother breathed a sigh of relief. A professor shrugged it off, as if her feat were nothing at all.
And that, fair readers, is the mark of a true pal.