What Has Been Going On Around Here

Everyone loves it when Dad works outside.  The kids because they can follow him around.  Patsy, because she can follow him around.  And me, because I can get some work done in the house without a bunch of people following me around.  Besides, manual labor looks so good on Tim.

Planting some seeds or examining the raspberries--not sure which.

Mr. Wilson feels no need to follow anyone around.  He's pretty chill.

Mostly clean.  Are you so impressed with me??  Thank you, thank you.

Yes, he does chew that blanket to shreds.  I don't mind.  Some kids just seem to need to chew on things and if one chewed up/mangled blanket = non-chewed up/mangled clothes, then I am all for it!

Harriet loves being outside.  LOVES it.  When I bring her inside she looks at me with this hurt, "how can you do this to me?" expression, and then she crawls over to the back door and bangs on it while squawking loudly.  She doesn't like it when Patsy knocks her over, but she usually just makes some irritated noises and then pushes herself back up to sitting position.  This is her, happily sleeping in the sun.  So sweet.

But because she was so sweet when she fell asleep that I had to take a picture, and then carry her in and put her to bed, that I didn't notice Cowen was taking an awfully long time to go get his light saber from "tree park," the little city-maintained property in the center of the cul-de-sac by our house.

And that led to the worst 90 minutes of my entire life.  The absolute worst.  I still haven't entirely recovered, as evidenced by Cowen telling me today in a very concerned tone that he was riding his bike around the block a few times, which would take a few minutes, so don't be worried.  I don't think he wants to see me in full-on crying-on-my-husband's-shoulder melt-down mode ever again.

Here's the story.  Cowen and Miriam came and asked me if they could go get the light saber Emeline left at the park.  I said no way because Miriam had stuff to do, but then I told Cowen he could go.  Again, thinking he was going a few yards away.

He had really said "t-ball park" which is all the way across town.  He left and I noticed that Lady Harriet was asleep outside, so I took a picture and then put her to bed.  I started making a batch of bread when I realized that Cowen wasn't back yet.  Mildly annoyed, I went to the front door and called for him to come home.  No answer, and no Cowen bounding toward me.  I walked over and glanced around.  No Cowen.  I went home, put my shoes on, and walked around the cul-de-sac.  No Cowen.

Then I went back to the house, jumped in the van and drove around the whole neighborhood, asking everyone I saw if they had seen a little camo-clad boy, aged 7.  Nobody had seen him and I couldn't find him anywhere.

By then it had been about an hour since I had last seen him.  Cowen is not prone to disappearing.  He is very obedient and he has an almost perfect track record for being where he is supposed to be when he is supposed to be there.  And he was just gone.  There was no way he could get lost in our little neighborhood and he wouldn't go in someone's house.

At that point, I went a little crazy.  I called Timothy at work and he started for home.  I started knocking on all my neighbor's doors asking them to help me look for him.  Pretty soon there was a sizable number of people canvassing the area looking for him, including me.  After looking for another 20 minutes or so I decided to go home and see if Timothy was there to call the police.  (I left Miriam in charge of the kids at home where they spent most of the time praying--love them.) I didn't want to talk to the police.  I was too . . . emotional.  When I rounded the bend I saw Timothy on the porch. With Cowen.

When I got home and Timothy was comforting me, Miriam said to Cowen--in a very maternal, worried, voice, "Cowen, you made Mom cry!"

Cowen had a worred, contrite, confused expression.  Just priceless.  He felt bad he had upset me, but he knew he had permission to go so he couldn't figure out what all the fuss was about.  Unfortunately, I can see the problem with my 7 year old boy walking alone down the busiest street in the area asking every stranger he met where T-Ball Park (not the park's actual name) is, advertising the fact that he was alone and not where he should be.

Cowen is alive.  Not stolen.  Not gone forever.  I'm sure you're as relieved as I am.  Then again, probably not.  But you can empathize and understand when I say I never, ever, ever, want to feel like that again.