About a month ago, Mr. Pants spent a few hours with Grandma Pants. And Grandma Pants knows a thing or two about gifting things to kids. There was no way the kid was coming home empty handed. What I didn't expect though was to be given a box of plastic weighted ducks. Muticolored plastic ducks. I thought, "Really? Now what am I supposed to do with twelve colored ducks?". They stayed in the car in the box for a few days until on a trip to my brother's house, he spotted them. "DUCK!!" DUCK!!DUUUUUUCK!!!!!". "I will get the ducks when we get to Uncle Pant's house, buddy. Mama's driving", I tell him. That didn't seem to get through and for the next ten minutes I heard an angel's chorus of, "DUCK DUCK DUCK DUCK DUCK! DUUUUUUUCK!". Arriving at my brother's house, I get the box of ducks and hand them to Mr. Pants. Now, this day is a very windy one. Old man winter was trying to blow in and it was cold. Mr. Pants sets foot to the ground and decides that, right when I head over to get Ms. Plum out of the car, it is the perfect time to open the box of ducks. And ducks begin to fly. Pink ducks, red ducks, blue ducks. All scattered over the lawn and Mr. Pants is losing his mind. Frantically collecting the ducks only to drop a duck that he had in his hand and watching it blow further away. I have secured Ms. Plum and am attempting to gather the ducks into my purse so that they may make a safe journey into the warm house and we can get our butts inside. Sadly, Mr. Pants believes that instead, I am kidnapping his ducks and that I have mal intent. So naturally he begins to lose his shit. I did not have mal intent (that comes later) and try to convince him, "Mama help ducks. Ducks Inside! Let's show Uncle Pants your ducks!". Yeah that worked about as well as if I had tried to run the ducks over with our car. So I had to intervene. Plum and I were frozen and this was going nowhere fast. In fact it was already at nowhere and threatening to go beyond nowhere. So I scooped him up, took them inside, and went back out to save the ducks. Stumbling over the lawn, desperate to retrieve every one of them because the good Lord knows that Mr. Pants will know if one is missing. He's creepy observant like that. I finally get them all and head inside. Aaaand he never plays with them again the entire night. In fact, I tried to draw his attention to them several times and he could have cared less. Burn.
Upon leaving my brothers house, I made a concious decision to forget the ducks. Don't hate! I thought the novelty had worn off and that they would not be missed. And this made them perfect for leaving behind because my brothers and I love to leave surprises for eachother. So I grabbed a duck, a blue one, and left the rest. For weeks there was no problem. No worries at all and then one day Mr. Pants stumbled upon Blue Duck. They have been bros ever since that day. Mr. Pants scoured the house looking for Blue Ducks brothers and sisters only to find they were not to be found.
And I felt like a big giant butthole. Especially the day, he came sauntering out to the living room with the top of the box that once held all twelve ducks. A reminder that where there was once a loving family of ducks, now only Blue Duck remained. The look on his face says that he longs to understand why his ducks have left him. He wanders around the house with his picture of his lost duck family and totes Blue Duck along. It's depressing. And I am officially an asshat jerk mom.
So I did what any kind of good and remorseful (read: wrecked with guilt) mama would do. I tried to find the ducks at Uncle Pants' house. But my brother is a thrower outer of everything. EVERYTHING. He often does it without even thinking. He even throws away his own stuff in a cleaning frenzy without even realizing it. So the possability that I would find these ducks was pretty slim. They were nowhere to be found. Ready to face the music (admittedly my own music as Mr. Pants did not know my mission), I return home and resign myself to having been the cause of breaking up my son's duck family.
Then a few days ago when Mr. Pants is once again staring lovingly at his piece of the duck box, I am moments from sewing myself a scarlet D so I decide to clean up a bit to take my mind off of it. Searching for a box to fill up with stuff to purge and donate, I locate one. Opening the lid, there in front of me is Pink Duck. So excited, I run to Mr. Pants and say, "Look, Bud!". He takes a moment, tears the lid out of my hands and screams, "NOOOOO!", replaces the lid and takes the entire box back to exactly where I had found it. Not quite the reaction I was anticipating. So obviously, the questions that are now swirling are never ending. Are there ducks hiding all over our house? Strategically placed in boxes and tight spaces. Seperated on purpose and hidden? Is my two year old capable of constructing an eloborate revenge plan? How many ducks will I find today? Will Mr. Pants continue to carry his duck picture now that I know he is full of it? Will Blue Duck ever be reunited with his family? Will I be haunted by these ducks until the end of my days?
Only time will tell.