ten minutes later

Gideon James.

I cleaned out the chicken coop yesterday.  The raccoons are planning a revolution… I can feel it.  You helped me a little but soon wandered off to do your own work.

Ten minutes later, I found you on the big red tractor and listened to you from behind the tree, “Daddy on?  No on.  Me up?  Up.  Moooooo.  Eeeeeeeeat.  Moo.  Eat.  Hay.”

I helped you down and headed back to the hens.

Ten minutes later, I found you at the kitchen sink, washing your sandbox trucks. “Wash. Me wash.  Me no wa-wa.  Truck wa-wa. Me no wa-wa.”

I turned off the water and pointed you in the direction of your red barn and animals.

Ten minutes later, I found you sitting on the brown leather couch, feet splayed out in front of you, hands to your side, humming into a yellow kazoo with all your might.

I just laughed and left you alone.

Ten minutes later, you were on the kitchen stool in the dining room at the glass cabinet carefully removing all the bowls. “Out? Out.  Me eat.  Out? Out.”   You proudly showed me that each bowl had one piece of honeycomb cereal in it.

I helped you return all 9 bowls to the cabinet and the cereal to your belly.

Ten minutes later, I could not find you.

You were not on the swing. You were not on the porch.  You were not in the pole barn or on the tractor or on the couch. You were not in the basement or doing your own version of laundry.  You were not in Abe’s kennel, Abe’s food, or Abe’s water.  You were not giving yourself a bath or unrolling the toilet paper.

I made my way down the hallway…

You were sitting quietly on my bed, reading the latest Sundance catalog.

With my swimsuit bottoms strapped on like a shirt.

Gotcha.

God bless you, Child.

God bless every wiry hair on your head.

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Where did you find your kiddo 10 minutes later?