(This is an episode that my son's wife, Andrea, recently wrote about)
Ezra has done something with the tub of butter. When I asked him about it this morning, he seemed to know all about it. Then, when gently pressed for more details, he said he 'don know where dat budder is'. Kind of funny at first, but now I'm scared. I've been looking for the butter all day long.
we are all still looking for the butter. I'm telling you, we've looked everywhere-- under beds, couches, chairs, in toy bins, sock drawers and trash cans. Ezra's story changes on an hourly basis. yesterday morning, we decided to call off the search, get out of the house and explore the city. Which meant a trip to the farmers market, a ride on the streetcar and a stop at little Finnegan's (where we bought hello kitty erasers, tiny wind-up robots and put Ezra into the photobooth with a viking hat on his head). Later that afternoon, the subject of the missing butter resurfaced. again, cryptic answers from a giggly, TOTALLY GUILTY Ezra.
I know it's time to let it go. I know the butter (well, earth balance) will eventually turn up. Hopefully when I'm in a good mood. Hopefully on a day when I need a good laugh. And hopefully soon. but I'm having great difficulty letting it go because how does an entire tub of butter go missing like that? Where could it be? It's making me loco. Which has me thinking of how crazy I get when I lose things. I lose things all the time-- mainly my car keys and cell phone but every once in a while, I lose something special, something irreplaceable. Once, I lost my brother's wedding ring. On his wedding day and just moments before the ceremony was to begin. Total nightmare situation for anyone, but especially if it's your first stint as maid of honor and the groom is your brother and he is counting on you (of all people) to keep your head on straight during such an important sort of day.
Well, that ring-- it just disappeared. At least, that's what it felt like. The second I realized it was gone, I was a mess. I remember wildly dumping the contents of my tiny purse over and over and over again, all the time whispering no no no nooooooooo. I remember getting on my hands and knees in my floor-length dress, frantically searching the dressing room, the bathroom and hallways of the church, beads of sweat forming along my upper lip as I scanned every possible surface. Then it was time for the ceremony to begin, which also meant it was time to come clean and tell The Bride. Omg, omg, omg what would Kendra put on Nate's finger when it came time to exchange rings? I wanted to cry, my eyes were watering and I felt sick to my stomach. Where could that ring be? Where where where? When I lose things, I tend to repeat words. As in: Where, where, WHERE? Why, why, WHY? and NO, NO, NO! Just seconds before I was to walk down the aisle, we asked my cousin if we could borrow his wedding band-- just for the ceremony. Then I sped down the aisle at a most ridiculous pace-- step together step together step together in double, triple, quadruple time. I remember feeling nervous and stupid. I remember trying not to cry. More than anything, I remember thinking WHERE COULD THAT RING BE? Beautiful ceremony, yada, yada, yada. Slight look of befuddlement on Nate's face as Kendra slips a yellow gold band onto his finger instead of the white gold one they'd picked out together. And then they were pronounced husband and wife (at which point, the sounds of the Jackson five's ABC filled the sanctuary, a pleasant surprise to us all). in this moment, I was happy. I'd forgotten about the lost ring, that I still had to face my brother (and everyone else) afterwards. I knew he'd understand, I knew he would not hold it against me. Still, I hated that I was the one responsible for losing his wedding ring. I couldn't stand the idea that this would be one of the stories they'd tell about their big day and that I'd forever be the flaky, flighty sister who lost the ring and then lost her head over it.
Immediately after the ceremony, the entire wedding party (turned search party) convened in the back dressing room. Groomsmen dumped make-up bags and pawed through pots of lip gloss and tubes of mascara. Bridesmaids crawled around on all fours and looked under tables and chairs. Pairs of wadded-up pantyhose were carefully inspected. Kleenex boxes were torn apart. And the bride and the groom were there too-- when they should have been basking in newly-wedded bliss and posing for photographs, they were back in that hot little room with me and everyone else, tearing everything apart, desperately hoping to find that ring.
And then I felt it. Something cold and small pressed against my chest. I closed my eyes and slowly reached inside the front of my dress. There, near the bottom of my bra, was The Ring. It had been there all the time, nestled comfortably in the dark hollow of cleavage that I'd been so careful to conceal that day (because who wants to showcase cleavage on your brother's wedding day? I mean, really). Time stopped just then, as the rest of the room realized that the ring had been recovered, that it had been with me all long (and in my bra, of all places). Ah, just the visual my brother wanted on his wedding day, I'm sure. Well, at least I'd found it, okay. Unfortunately, that didn't change how stupid I felt. I then remembered having a conversation with a few of the bridesmaids about the ring. I was worried that I would lose it and joked that maybe I should cram it inside my bra for safe-keeping. That way I would know exactly where it was, I said. Ha. Obviously, not one of my better plans. really, how could I have forgotten that? How did I get through the whole ceremony without feeling that thing rolling around in there? How, how, how?
What this has to do with a lost tub of butter is... not a lot. Except that I think I will feel just as relieved when that tub of butter is recovered. The moment the great mystery of the missing butter is solved will be right up there with the moment I pulled Nate's wedding ring from my cleavage (in terms of personal triumph, that is). Ah, but only the little viking knows the answer, folks. only the viking.
We found the butter inside a huge silver stock pot and way up high, in the back of one of the kitchen cabinets. I don't even want to know how he got up there. How did he get up there? How did he get his hands on a pot that I have to use a step stool to get to? I swear, I haven't had that big pot out in ages. I laughed out loud when I saw it and felt like taking a victory lap around the house. Look buddy! I yelled. it's the butter! We found the butter! How in the world did you get up there? Huh? HOW? He smiled that little closed mouth half-moon smile. I sorry mommy, He said. I din mean to, I SORREEEE! Still with that half moon smile and me standing there, holding that tub of liquidy yellow goo, completely puzzled.