An Icy Escapade Leads to Unexpected Caper
I am a fan of keeping my feet under me, of matte-finish driveways and parking lots. I appreciate being able to grab my phone, tell the kids to jump into the car, and heading out. That doesn’t always happen in February.
Case in point, a recent school-day morning: My car was parked a good 70 feet from the garage (long story) across an expanse of ice which, thanks to just enough thawing to add lethal layer of water, had become, overnight, “The Driveway/Path of Death.”
Add to that, a homework dilemma: Brooklyn had typed an important essay on the iPad and had permission to print it the next morning at school. We were actually running just a tad early as we donned our boots and coats. Benson, Brooklyn, and I, with all our gear, made our way over the treacherous ground to the car, almost knocking each other over in the process.
I started the car, found the ice scraper, and did my best clown-on-ice impression as I made my way around the windows. As I slid back to the driver’s door and opened it, Brooklyn said, “Mom, the iPad is not in my backpack. I need to go back inside.”
Leaning forward to keep her balance, she made her way across the watery ice and into the house. A few precious minutes later, she emerged, slipped and slid her way back to the car, and holding onto the car door, nearly fell into the back seat. “It’s not in there,” she said. “It has to be here.” I suggested she look in her backpack again. No iPad.
Brooklyn painstakingly edged her way back inside.
My phone rang. It was Matt letting me know he had searched with Brooklyn, and he asked if we were sure it wasn’t in her backpack. I performed some impressive gymnastics to reach the backpack. No iPad. All the while five-year-old Benson sat patiently in his carseat knowing he might be late to school. (He hates being late for school.)
I could feel the clock moving inexorably forward as Brooklyn braved the water-covered ice one more time. This time, as she opened the car door, she was completely distraught, and when I told her the search had to end and we just had to leave, she burst into tears.
I began making our way down the street, when behind me, I heard Benson’s backpack unzip. I glanced into the rearview mirror just as he reached into his backpack, and with a flourish worthy of a Las Vegas magician, pulled out the iPad. “I have it,” he said with a hint of pride in his voice, and then added matter-of-factly, “I’m a tricky guy.” Benson seemed to be torn— proud of himself, but considering also, that he might have waited just a tad too long for his clever reveal.
Through her tears, Brooklyn started laughing. I tried to scold him, but kept laughing too (the mark of a true disciplinarian). The idea that he had watched his sister make her way back and forth across the driveway TWICE, and the fact that he had sat listening to our phone call knowing that he had the iPad all along was just too much. I was still laughing as I walked him into school—late.
Loose real-estate moral of the story: Just when you think all is lost and you’ll never find just the right house, a clever realtor might just might be able to reach into their “backpack” and “Ta Da!” find exactly what you’ve been looking for all along!
Jessica Side
Owner/Broker
EvoReal
[email protected]
(509) 62-HOUSE
Over 600 Homes Sold Since 2013
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