You know those ice breakers or self-awareness tests that make you choose three things that define you? My three are big sister, wife/mom (Shut-up, it is one term.), geek. You will find that most of my posts will center around the latter two, mostly because my husband as a blogger (The
MisAdventures of Daddy Runs a Lot) doesn’t mind being written about and my kids can’t talk. (My siblings can and do, so I try and keep their privacy.) And well, the geek in me talks a lot and thinks a lot and imagines a lot and wastes time on zombie invasions and what rules vampires should follow (NO SPARKLING!) and what I might do with a wand and a Time Turner or a sonic screwdriver.
This week geek me had a bad moment.
It hit this sixties temperature-wise on Tuesday. That meant a trip to the park. The kids were in the wagon, the dogs on their leashes, and I was yanking everyone along. The neighborhood tot park is at the top of a hill. As we were climbing, a car was leaving. The driver rolled down her window and asks if the car at the top of the hill was mine. Because I was panting and gasping I shook my head. She said it had been there the whole time she was in the park and that a diaper bag, the keys to the car and a kid’s yogurt drink were all on the picnic table. She was concerned. I tried to acknowledge my agreement with nodding and hand gestures. She was going to call the township. Thumbs up from me.
The kids and dogs and I continue up the hill. I check out the car and the bag. It was creepily abandoned looking. For a brief moment I thought about going to another part of the park, but this one has two baby swings. And I was being silly.
The kids and I start to run around and
get ridiculously dirty play while the dogs bask in the sun as geriatric beings are wan to do. I am climbing up the slide behind my daughter, my son is at the top, when Snickelfritz, the lazier of the two dogs, sits up and starts barking hysterical towards the hill behind me, the side I didn’t have to sherpa up. As I turn to try and find the SQUIRREL! (That is totally how Snick’s mind works.) that is frolicking on the grassy slope, my eyes pass over the abandoned bag. And suddenly, there are eyeballs drilling into the spot between my shoulder blades. I finish the turn. No one, of course.
You know how on shows like Buffy or the new Grimm they do a little teaser before the credits that usually involves some poor innocent getting creamed by that week’s Little Bad? People, I so thought at this moment, I was that innocent. The zombies were marching over the hill, coming into sight in just a heartbeat (Mine, not the zombies’, obviously). Can zombies climb sliding board ladders? Or a big dark blur was going to come crashing into and out of the frame and leave just one purple Converse behind. Unless this was a crime show, then it was going to be a serial killer dressed as a friendly hiker who was not going to fool me and my trusty iPhone at all.
Guess it was that squirrel.
My kids peered down at me from the top of the slide. “What gives, Mom?” They can convey a lot with a look. “Nothing,” I muttered and continued up to go down the slide with Leila which did nothing for my heart rate.
As we were leaving, the moron who left his life sitting on a picnic table showed up. He and the kid had just taken a walk. (How mad do you think his wife would have been to know he left the diaper bag and car keys unattended for at least an hour? Glad John is from big bad Jersey.) Because, of course, this is the real world which is not written in witty and dramatic Joss Whedon language or plot.
But, People, if it ever is? I am so ready.