Seen and not heard

I haven't seen my son all day.

Unfortunately, this is not an unusual occurrence. Technology being what it is, and sites such as “LOL Cats” taking up more time in our consciousness than any single feline we have no obligation to feed deserves.

But this was different. My son wasn’t home. He had taken his bike and driven off, muttering something about the library and the Entreiky Ofnydne.

I may be wrong about that last bit. Probably wrong.

Prior to his disappearance, I only heard his voice once. It echoed through the hallway and into my bedroom early this morning, dulled by sleep but sharpened with alarm when he noticed the presence of light in the sky.

This is also not unusual.

"What time is it? I’ll be late. I can't be late!"

But his willingness to venture out into the world … is a little out of character.

I didn't have the heart to play tricks on him (even though I am ALWAYS of the mind to do just that), so I told him the truth: He had an hour to get to the library for the very important, ultra shrouded in mystery, literary extravaganza that the tween librarian had devised ... and that I knew nothing about. Even though I had visited the website and scrolled through vacation week offerings.

Nada.

Not that the librarian is a tween. He is just a clever bibliophile, catering to a crowd of soon-to-be teens who have sort of aged out of story time but still kinda believe in magical creatures ... like Santa’s elves and Amazon’s Free Shipping.

But I digress.

This library function wasn't some snooze-fest geek-a-palooza printed in last month’s calendar as an afterthought. This was a vital word-of-mouth soirée that could change the course of an 11-year-old’s entire vacation. Plus it had all-you-could-eat popcorn.

And he NEEDED the entire hour to get ready.

I mean ... he had to shift his messy crop of bed-head hair from one side of his face to the other; pour an entire box of breakfast cereal into a bowl so he could pop handfuls of apple-flavored loops into his mouth as he pulled socks up over the bottoms of his pants because that's his style now.

I've seen this feat, and it's not at all like watching paint dry, especially if I haven't "right-side-outted" his socks, which, as the lackadaisical laundress that I am, is highly likely.

The only challenge left, then, would be lacing up his new purple Chuck Taylors (that only Santa knew he wanted) with the use of his one free hand. Since this will probably seem a daunting enough of a task, he will probably jam his cheeks with whatever nuggets of fortified sugar cubes remain uneaten, allowing him to have full use of both hands for the loop, swoop and pull portion of the dressing exercise. And, if I know my boy, he will continue to eat by osmosis as he pedals his bike to the library.

Hopefully, he will have finished his cheek-pocket meal by the time he reaches his destination and has to speak to anyone.

I just hope they can understand him.