Remember that column I wrote last month about my husband being a loser? I stand by every word. But something that happened recently reminded me that he’s not just a fantastic loser – he’s also a really talented finder.
And no, this isn’t just me pumping his tires because I called him a loser in the local newspaper… it’s really true.
To date, since having children, we have only lost one toy. Just the one. That’s not to say we haven’t lost a ton of stuff — we have just somehow managed to find it all.
Still at large, however, is “Peanut” the green stretchy lizard made out of that sticky material that seems to grab every particle of dust and grime whenever it hits the ground. Or couch. Or wherever it lands when your child throws it.
My son had acquired poor Peanut from the dentist after his first-ever trip there for a cleaning. I remember it well. The hygienist opened the prize drawer and his eyes lit up in disbelief that he had his pick of all the wondrous items on offer.
He could have gone with the plastic dinosaur. I’m actually shocked he didn’t. I’m still glad he didn’t go with the rubber ball. Not just a choking hazard for small children… you can put an eye out with those things! And what’s more, those tiny rubber balls make adults look ridiculous when we try to corral them as they spring around unpredictably. Instead, he picked the sticky lizard and promptly named him Peanut.
It was a sad day the day Peanut disappeared. We looked everywhere. I mean EVERYWHERE. If I had to place blame it would on my son’s parents. We were the ones who started the “Let’s chuck Peanut at the ceiling and see how long he lasts up there” game. Henceforth, my then toddler figured he had permission to propel Peanut. The original lizard has since been replaced twice over after regular dental visits but the mystery remains.
Also remaining is my kid’s affinity for throwing things.
The other day while looking for something else he’d hurled, my husband turned on a scarcely used sconce only to see a shadow behind the frosted glass.
It was my son’s underpants. Lord knows how long they’d been there (or whether or not they were clean.) Anyway, score for my husband for finding them. He’s so good at finding, he found them when he wasn’t even looking!
My husband’s best find, however, happened one cold, wet day out at Genoa Bay. He was attending a reception for the family of one of the English airmen who died 70 years prior in the Avro Anson L7056 plane crash on the west coast.
(The aircraft was based at the Patricia Bay airfield in Victoria and disappeared during a training flight in 1942 and was thought to be lost for good. It wasn’t until the fall of 2013 that loggers stumbled across the wreckage near Port Renfrew.)
Anyway, at this reception the family of Pilot Officer Charles George Fox had brought his war medals outside to show my husband.
When they opened the velvet-lined box they were in, the medals spilled out into the garden.
“We found everything right away except for a tiny eagle,” my husband recalled. “We looked for a bit but then they went in for lunch. I stayed outside in the rain and searched until I found it. The medals had been recovered from the site too, so it would have been tragic to lose them.”
So yes, my husband is a loser. But he’s also a quite a good finder. I mean, after all, he did find me.