Lost and Found

"Mommy! Where is my xx?"

The words are not spoken, but rather shrieked. Peppered with equal amounts of frustration, blame, anxiety and immediate need. It's not even so much a question as it is an accusation. As if you, the one who is responsible for finding said object is the very person who hid or lost said object. And only because of a child's ability to ask the same question incessantly, you immediately drop whatever you're doing to try and solve the caper of the missing whatever it is that's lost. 

For all the grating pleas. All the items presumed lost, but only intentionally hidden by my three foot tall perpetrator, whenever I am not looking for something and just uncover a child's treasure in a random place in the house, I can't help but smile. It's as if their treasures become as valuable to me as they are to them.

Today, in the quiet of the house as both kids were napping, I climbed into my bed to watch Bravo - naturally an episode of what I like to call The Not So Real Not Even Housewives of (insert any city for which there is a show). But as I went to sit down I noticed a lump under the duvet. It was Reece's stuffed bunny. I held it and smiled, thinking of how it got in my bed - during the ritual of cartoons in my bed when he wakes each morning. And then I reached for the remote and next to it was a matchbox car. Again, I smiled, thinking of how happy he will be when he sees it. A toy he didn't accuse me of losing today, but surely will be just as happy being reunited with it as if it had been long gone.

To me, this is all a metaphor for parenting. 

My parenting journey has so far been part hidden moments, part stolen moments and fear of moments lost.

For the aggravation associated with the dire pleas of "mommy! Where is my xx" there is also tremendous satisfaction in being able to answer that question most of the time. So for now I will just remind myself that this is my journey as a mom. Keeper of the lost and found.