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Sep. 20th, 2008 09:09 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
mereilinI had the scare of my life tonight.
I had brought the kids apple picking this afternoon, then on the way home we stopped at the supermarket to pick up ingredients to make sloppy joes for dinner and banana splits for dessert. When we pulled into the driveway, Danny volunteered to bring in the bulging apple sack. I started bringing in groceries and putting the perishables into the refrigerator.
When I went out for the second load of bags, my heart stopped. On the sidewalk was the apple sack, tipped over and nearly empty. Apples and the squashed remains of apples were all over the front lawn, the sidewalk, and the busy street in front of our house.
Danny was nowhere to be seen. And he didn't answer when I called. It was like the first five minutes of CSI. I could feel the panic rising in my voice when I noticed a boy across the street, waving and shouting over the traffic. "He's down there," the boy called. I vaguely registered the presence of a few other people across the street, including a couple of adults, and no one looked horrified.
I walked far enough down the sidewalk to see around the bend, just in time to spot him desperately try to flag down an oncoming car to rescue an apple that had rolled into the road. I shouted for him to get off the street; he heard me and came pelting up the sidewalk, clutching apples to his chest and sobbing. "It's all my fault," I could just hear him wail. Tears were streaming down his face. "My beautiful Paula Reds. I'm such a bad kid."
I ran down to meet him, holding out the hem of my sweater to take the apples from him, and hugged him. They're just apples, I told him over and over again.
We ended up having to throw out most of the poor apples that he nearly killed himself to rescue, so battered were they from their excursion that they weren't even fit for applesauce.
I already felt stupid for mourning the dying crayfish. Today I had a dopeslap of monumental proportions to my sense of perspective.
I had brought the kids apple picking this afternoon, then on the way home we stopped at the supermarket to pick up ingredients to make sloppy joes for dinner and banana splits for dessert. When we pulled into the driveway, Danny volunteered to bring in the bulging apple sack. I started bringing in groceries and putting the perishables into the refrigerator.
When I went out for the second load of bags, my heart stopped. On the sidewalk was the apple sack, tipped over and nearly empty. Apples and the squashed remains of apples were all over the front lawn, the sidewalk, and the busy street in front of our house.
Danny was nowhere to be seen. And he didn't answer when I called. It was like the first five minutes of CSI. I could feel the panic rising in my voice when I noticed a boy across the street, waving and shouting over the traffic. "He's down there," the boy called. I vaguely registered the presence of a few other people across the street, including a couple of adults, and no one looked horrified.
I walked far enough down the sidewalk to see around the bend, just in time to spot him desperately try to flag down an oncoming car to rescue an apple that had rolled into the road. I shouted for him to get off the street; he heard me and came pelting up the sidewalk, clutching apples to his chest and sobbing. "It's all my fault," I could just hear him wail. Tears were streaming down his face. "My beautiful Paula Reds. I'm such a bad kid."
I ran down to meet him, holding out the hem of my sweater to take the apples from him, and hugged him. They're just apples, I told him over and over again.
We ended up having to throw out most of the poor apples that he nearly killed himself to rescue, so battered were they from their excursion that they weren't even fit for applesauce.
I already felt stupid for mourning the dying crayfish. Today I had a dopeslap of monumental proportions to my sense of perspective.
