Tuesday, July 25, 2006

But, Gee, I Know What Chavez Did Today


I dropped my son off at camp today around 9:45--late, because he wanted to come back to the house and hang a bit after walking with Papa (we're visiting his grandparents).

Five minutes ago, I casually stroll into the living room and nearly fall on my ass after tripping over--my son's sneakers.

My son's sneakers?!! The ones he wore for the walk today and that I told him to put back on right before we went out the door this morning?

Oh, Lord. Could I possibly have taken that child by the hand and led him to the vehicle; made sure he was safely buckled in; driven at the speed limit to our destination; gently helped him out of the van; lovingly escorted him into the building; hugged him; handed him his correctly packed, nutrionally balanced, junk-free and yet tasty brown-bagged lunch; and watched him head to his first camp station, without ever noticing that he was in his stocking feet?

Please say it ain't so.

Now, my in-laws run this camp (they own a large day-care/pre-school). Kind, non-confrontational people that my mother- and sister-in-law are (not to mention indulgent, after 14 years, of my, well, being different from them), it is very possible that they wouldn't call and ask me what the hell I was thinking. Actually, I can't imagine them using that latter phrase, period, under any circumstances.

So I can't decide whether I should call or just let it go.

I know one thing: If I was that absent-minded today, my father-in-law and my husband--overly endowed with a wicked sense of humor about such things--will never let me live it down. I'll bet my son'll never forget it, either.