“Think about it. I’m sending another box with some amazing items that arrived the other day. I found a coat for you. Kiss those babies for me!” she sings.
“Love you, Mom.” We hang up, and I shove my phone in my pocket, shifting Frankie to the other hip. “Let’s get you dressed and something to eat.”
She claps her hands and bounces on my hip. “Eat. Eat.”
“Ollie! Are you dressed, buddy?”
Ten minutes later, Ollie is eating cereal while Frankie attempts to get yogurt into her mouth with globs dripping onto her bib.
“Grover, let’s go outside.” I open the back door, and he trots out.
I check my watch again. “When you’re done eating, get your coat on,” I tell Ollie as I grab a handful of cereal.
“Ready!” He hops down from his seat to get his coat, leaving the last bits of cereal and milk in his bowl.
I pull the baby carrier from the hook by the door and set it next to my backpack. “You ready, Love Bug?” I wipe Frankie’s mouth and carefully remove her soaked bib.
“Pout-Pout.” Ollie takes off back to his bedroom to retrieve his fish.
“Go potty, too?” I holler after him.
I unhook Frankie from her booster seat, then open the door to let Grover in, but he’s not there. I peek my head out and scan the backyard. “Grover! Come.” He doesn’t appear.
“Mama, I p-p-peed on the wall.”
My body slumps. “Really?” I want to melt into the floor. “Hurry. I’ll clean it later.”
“Mama, can I take my p-plane on the bus, too?” Ollie holds out his small metal biplane, and I notice his shoes are on the wrong feet.
“Quick. Switch your shoes. We’ve got to find Grover.”
He plops on the floor and un-Velcro’s his shoes. I slip Frankie’s coat and shoes on while she tries to grab a pink spatula from the utensil canister.
With her on my hip, I step outside, scanning the backyard again. The gate stands open a foot.
Shit! Of course this would happen today.
“Hurry, bud.”
Ollie pops up, holding his fish and plane.
We circle the house with Ollie’s plane doing loop de loops as we conduct our search.
“Grover!”
The crisp swish of leaves sounds as I trudge to the front yard. I stop, listening and glancing up and down the street. My stomach bottoms out at the thought of him being lost.
“Grover!” Ollie yells, standing on the porch steps.
I stop at the sidewalk, switching Frankie to the other hip.
“Grover!”You little shit.“If you get hit, I’ll kill you.”
“Everything ok?”
I spin, and a middle-aged man with short blond hair stands at the end of my driveway, holding a tiny brown dog with a long, pointy snout and floppy ears. The man’s eyes are wide, like he’s waiting with anticipation.
“Our dog got loose,” I say, peering past him and hoping to see furry movement. I don’t see his fawn fluff anywhere.
