Ah, June… Summer is at our doorstep, the days are (almost all of them) seeming to get a little bit longer, and for the second year in a row I am partaking in my daily blogging exercise, marginally focused along a theme I’ve simply called Those 30 posts in June. No planning. No writing stuff days ahead. Just this: each day a meanderingly vague prompt drives a meanderingly vague post… and today that post just happens to be:
June 8th // Something You Have Fixed
It was one of those insanely busy dad days. It should have been my day off, but instead I found myself in the throes of fatherhood in the creep of summer; I accompanied Claire’s pre-school class on a field trip to the zoo, we had a daddy-daughter lunch out, we spent an hour and a half at the swimming pool and indoor playground at the recreation centre, and…
… and we were supposed to be going to Claire’s final piano lesson of the season but we could find her jacket.
We’d had it earlier in the day. I knew I’d toted it around the zoo all morning, but that’s the last place I remembered having it. And to top things off, it had turned into a drizzly and spot-rainy day.
I made the mistake of suggesting that, maybe… just maybe… we’d lost it. The waterworks began shortly after that. No, not the rain; the tears.
What’s a dad to do? I was exhausted by that point. We were a few minutes behind and already on the verge of lateness to her piano lesson, and there I was consoling a little girl who’d just, possibly, lost “my favourite coat, daaaaaaaaaaaaad” and I would have rather just curled up on the couch for a nap than worry about any of this.
We wracked our brains then. I calmed her down and we retraced our steps. “Did we forget it at the pool, maybe?” No, we hadn’t taken our jackets. We’d been chilly running from the car to the door. I remember that.
“Did we drop it at the zoo, perhaps?” Hmmm… neither of us remember her putting it on, but… no I’m pretty sure we had it at the…
“I told you to take it off at the restaurant, remember?” I ask. “Did you put it back on when we left?”
Five minutes later we were pulling up in front of the wrap place we’d visited a few hours previously for lunch. The whole (short) trip I’d been peppered with what-if questions from a little girl far too concerned over something emminently replacable. “What if some other little girl found it and took it, dad?” or “What if they threw it in the garbage?” wherein we had a brief chat about the nature of lost-and-found boxes and the inherent honesty of average people around these parts.
And sure enough the jacket was there, folded neatly under the front counter, waiting for us to return. Claire’s grin spread wide, quickly across her face. And we weren’t even really late for piano, either. Fixed!