It is a truth universally acknowledged, that a woman desperately wanting to be on time for a coffee date, must forget her son’s Beek at work, and drive halfway home before her employers call to let her know she doesn’t have it.
Upon receiving this terrible news, I pulled a u-turn in the middle of a parking lot and flew back to the C.’s house, restored Beek to his rightful place with Felix, and turned again for home.
Turns out, I wasn’t late at all.
I’m that good.
On our way back to the C.’s, I explained the reason for our u-turn to Felix, who as of yet hadn’t noticed that Beek was missing.
“I don’t want to sleep without my Beek,” he says, voice small.
“You don’t have to, baby,” I say. “We’re going back to get him.” (yes, people, Beek is a him, not an it.)
“I just hate it,” he says, voice still small.
At this point, I’ll admit I am a little concerned. Hate? Where did he pick that up? I’m pretty careful about words like that in front of the kids.
“I just hate leaving my Beek at Betty’s house.”
“Oh, sweetheart. I understand. But it’s nicer to say ‘I don’t like leaving my Beek at Betty’s house,” I remind him. “And we’re going to get it right now.”
He is quiet for the rest of the ride.
With Beek retrieved, we’re on the final leg of this epic drive home, and I remind Felix, “Now, Daddy’s going to be in charge of bedtime tonight.”
“Mama’s going out for a little while.”
“Why are you goin’ out?”
“I’m going to see a friend.”
He is quiet for a while.
“I just hate that you’re going out.”