So at 3 o’clock every afternoon, I walk down Wall Street to go pick up the kids from school. Today, being Wednesday, Scarlett gets dropped off at 4:20ish after Brownies, so I was looking forward to some quiet walking time with Tristan. Tristan is in Kindergarten, so his teacher brings the kids for release up to the audorium. Each of the three kindergarden classes have their own door and as I walk up the stairs to Tristan’s, I see the sub. I smile, walk over, and since she is a sub, I identify which child I am there to collect.

“Hi, one Tristan please!”
“Oh, Tristan…he’s not here”

And, yes, I can see that. I am looking at three children…the boy is black, then there are two girls, I think.

All I know is my five year old boy is not where he should be.

So I say, “I see. Where is he?” Still smiling, mind you, still smiling.

And she begins to tell me this story about Tristan and his friend Gavin, and how all day they had been talking about how Tristan is going home on G’s bus and they are having a playdate today, and they were so confident and excited and, oh boy, she didn’t check the bus list, and he’s on the bus.

And I laugh, I really do. Because I do find it amusing that they kids are so sure of who they are and what they can do that they managed to snowball this poor young inexperienced overwhelmed sub.

And so, yes, I laugh as I begin to push my way, rather unorthodox like, into the “out only” audotorum doors, because, while it’s funny, really, she is esentially telling me that MY baby is on a line for a bus going to another kids house, so funny step aside…where the heck is my kid.

And while I felt bad enough for this poor young inexperienced overwhelmed sub and I said so, I looked her straight in the eye and declared that I’m not a freak out kind of mommy, so no drama, no scene..

just I need to go find my kid NOW! I was in the school by then, still laughing, as I matter of factly repeated: Where is he?

And out comes something about how she doesn’t think they will let him get on the bus.
And how his friend has an afterschool program, and his sister pulled him out of the bus line. So he’s probably not on the bus yet, ha ha.
And we can go see in a minute, but first she has to see these three non-Tristans into their parent’s arms.
And I’m all like..OK, you stay here and do that, but I have to go get him. Where is this “bus line”.
That’s all there was to this. Did she not understand how simple this all was?

And that I am going to get him, now, that I must, that I am his mother.

And for whatever reason she just could not just let me in unescorted…so to the other kindergarten teachers, I am smiling and saying “Hi, it’s me and I have to get get Tristan who is trying to go on a bus!” The other teachers know who I am. I am at the school all the time. I was at that Xmass shop for two full weeks.

But, I guess this sub didn’t know me, so she pawns off her three last kids or some thing on the other teachers. I don’t know, coz I am out of there, in the main lobby, and it’s all a blur. I know my eyes are darting about. I here her tip tapping behind me, calling directions..in the main office. There is the cohort and the older sister. Questions fly..where? who? where? All I know is that with every ounce of my flesh I have to find my child. People call out to me, I don’t know who, it matters not, I hear familier words:

Scarlett has him..going outside to find you.

Sigh of relief….ah, the sister. So thankful for her wise almost 7 years. She pulled him from the bus line and he is safe now. Walking outside, still looking, but less fevered now, I hear her cries, the story unfolding from her end.
She is the hero. He doesn’t want to talk about it. Tristan is embarrassed, he runs ahead of me on the way home.

********

My best laid plans always seem to get fouled up.

I try to think of everything and keep it simple, but I find that I can only do so much when people don’t follow directions.

When Scarlett was six months old, I had to take a trip to New Hampshire to pick up Garin from camp. She had made the drop off trip with us: two mommies, two 10 year old boys, and a six moth old baby. We survived it, but it wasn’t exactly a funtime, so plans changed for the return.

The other mommy and I were going to go up alone that Saturday night and then gather the boys on Sunday and return home. I was going to leave Scarlett with Rye, but with arragements for her to go to his mother’s that Saturday night when he worked. Since he had to work at 3 on Sunday, and we had a good 6 hour trip home, the plan was to leave Scarlett safe with Grandma and I could get her when I returned.

I don’t know what made Rye decided to get Scarlett that morning. Why he felt that my return by 3 was possible or probable even for that matter. This was also complicated by one of our cars deciding that stalling was a good idea, further complicating issues.

I do know that he was rather annoyed when I informed him that no I would not be back by 3 and that’s why our daughter was suppose to say at his mothers, and since he got it in his noggin’ to get her, he could fiqure out something to do with her, but I was gonna be there when I got there and that was that! Hump!

And so when I did arrive home and went to the resturant he was working in to get the car that was working, I fully expected to see my sleeping infant daughter in her car seat on the bar. But she was gone. Rye had found a baby sitter for her, but I could call this sitter, Bethany, and get my baby.

“Where’s her number?”
“Umm here…oh..I can’t find it…call Brianne or just wait..she’ll call. Brianne knows Bethany”
Right.
You messed up my carefully laid plans, pawned off our daughter, lost the number to where she is, and I’m going to be calm about this?

I remained calm, went home with Garin, started unpacking, and tried to call our friend and neightbor Brianne, who knew this unknown babysitter who has my baby, Bethany.
And I call Brianne, across the street, and let the phone ring 6times, 12 times, ring ring. Brianne is not answering her phone.
So I cross the street and go upthe three floors to Brianne’s attic apartment. The gentle tap-tap, the knock-knock, the demanding pound-pound. There is no sound from Brianne’s apartment.
I call Rye.

I tell him of this inability to find our baby.

It’s close to 5 o’clock now. I need to breast feed her. My boobs hurt. I want her home. I have him ask Dylan, Brianne’s brother, who he works with him where Bri is.
He has no clue. She’s sick. She’s hung over. She’s passed out.

So then what about this Bethany chick who has my baby?

What’s her last name so I can look her up? unknown.
What does she look like? Mid 20’s long brown hair, slim.
Where does she live? Somewhere on Washington Avenue.
What does she drive? A Brown Audi.

My husband lost my baby.

My breasts are about to explode. This chick could be on the next block over. I’m getting in my car, I announce,and finding my baby.
And I do.
I drive over to Washington Avenue and slowly drive up untilI find a brown Audi and then I park my car. I walk around looking, and then I ask people I see, going up to there back gates, busting in their yards:
“Do you know who owns that Audi there? Do you which house Bethany lives in..she has long brown hair, she’s an artist?”
Finially, this one guy points me to the houses accross the street..and as I am looking…I know my child is close, and I will find her even if I have to go up to every door on this block…I hear a faint cry.
I listen hard now.. I know this cry..that’s MY baby crying..and I follow the sound.. up the block, to the green house, up the side stairs, I don’t even knock on the door….and there she is.
My baby.
I can still see her: sittng on the kichen floor, pissed off..hungry..crying..sweaty, it was July..in just her diaper…

I am MacGuyver. I am Sherlock Homes. I am super slooth. I found my baby.

We go home.

***********
I have always been more partial to Lowes rather than Home Depot. For one,Lowes opened here right at the same time I bought my house and there were days, in the first two years on non stop house renovation, when I ran over there three times a day though it was usually more like three times a week. In anycase, Lowes beat HomeDepot by a good year, and they got my preference for that.

I was one of my must-get-a million-things today visits during the first 6 months when Garin got lost.

I think it was a Saturday as David, my-not-yet-out-of-the-closet-still-almost-fiance, was there and so was Garin. Garin was 6. I was getting paint mixed or something, and David was going to go to another isle to pick upsomething else. Garin was going with David, and so I happily started thinking of whatever project was next, walking down anopthe warehouse sized isle, taking measurenments in my head.

About ten minutes later, David came back. Without Garin.
“Where’s Garin?”
“He came back here with you”
“When?” which is a stupid qustion because obviously he didn’t or I would know where he is!
“Right after I left here..he said he wanted to go back to you..and he went back to paint”
About ten minutes ago. Realization that my 6 year old has been without an adult for almost ten minutes in a huge store.

It’s at this moment that my stomach turns to lead.

And he might have “gone back to paint”, but I had walked away since I did’t expect the 6 year old to have to find me. I think I make some cutting remark about letting 6year olds walk around warehouses by themselves. It’s a very quick conversation as my panic level is rising. I find myself running back to the paint counter, but only find the harried paint mixer who thinks I’m freaking out because my paint is not done. I manage to shush them regarding paint excuses, and communicate that the boy child is missing. David is there too, trying to calm me, a store official too.
I am running up and down the huge warehouse isles, down the middle one, look up and down, paniced, almost crying, where could he be?

My eyes searching, haunted by what they do not see.
Yelling his name, I do not care who hears me, who thinks me crazed, what do they expect, my child is lost.

My thoughts are getting darker as he could not have wondered off so far in such a short period of time. How close are we to the thurway? How soon can the state police put up roadblocks?
I am three seconds away from making the store manager lock down the whole store when I see him.
Stupid child, stupid boyfriend, stupid store, stupid paint. I am mad. They made me worry. We gather our crap together and go home.

**********

The last time I saw Max he was two days old and was in the hospital’s see through infant bassinette.

I had been sitting in the rocking chair with him, knowing that both of us were getting discharged that day, but he was going his way, and I mine. Saying godbye was one thing, handing him off, as if I had my fill and had enough for a lifetime, was something else entirely. It was just never going to be pssible to say yes, I was done. I know someone said it was time. I think I placed him down by myself. I couldn’t watch them wheel him away. I turned my head to dry a tear, then looked back, and my baby was gone.
Two days after that, he gets picked up from the foster home by his new mother and father. He is adopted.

Three days later, my own mother comes and finds me. She takes me home.

*********

Over 19 years later, I was in the same building as Max again. We had planned, we had this date together.

No longer a baby, my son and I were to met again, but I didn’t know his dorm room number, I had no clue where he was. I had a 13 floor building filled with hundreds of 19 year olds and one of them was mine. He is here.
Fustrated by this last minute hiccup, I am not leaving.

I have waited 19 years and I will find him.

I know he is in this building. I will smell him out. I am MacGuyver. I am Sherlock Homes. I am super slooth. I do not care who hears me, who thinks me crazed, who I end up bothering, what do they expect? That’s all there is to this. It is so simple. I am going to find him, now, that I must, that I am his mother.

It’s been 19 years, but I am his mother. I will find him..today!

I wait in the dorm lobby. Kids come and go. I peer into their faces. Which one is mine? Who looks to be waiting for more than just the bus? I walk up and down the corridors. I look into the open dorm room doors. I stop other kids and ask for him by name. It is after an hour of this, that I realize that the kid freezing his butt off in front of me, is the one I seek.

As I approach him, recognition is made, tears come, smiles explode, tight hugs, hug again….so long..can’t believe it is true..you are here…ahhh…

No longer lost