The Mitten Curse

Imagine, if you will, my yesterday… politely deemed the day of “the mitten”. As most days, our day started out with me scraping the van and loading up each child –checking to see that they were at least dressed for the day, and preferably wearing a winter coat. We were off to take Big J to school, Little E to Joy School and Mr. T and Baby J and I had one quick errand to run. Just as we are driving off, Mr. T announces, “I forgot my mittens!” Mean Mom that I am, I replied, “Too late.” Thus began the whining, the wailing, the gnashing of teeth (or chattering at least), and so I gave in. I turned around and allowed him to go get his beloved red mittens. We all make mistakes.

To make a long story short, everywhere we went Mr. T left a mitten. Walmart: we’re in the car, buckled in, “Uh oh. I think I put my mitten by that Pirate coloring book I wanted”. McDonalds: half of us are in the car, it’s snowing, “Uh oh. I think I see my mitten blowing by those cars.” I nearly died when we were at the Library and he brought me this book to read:
And I seriously did die when we were up the elevator, out the door, crossing the street to our car where the meter was about to run out when Mr. T quietly said, “Uh oh. I forgot my mitten.”
Squeezing his hand so hard it must have looked as red as his mitten, we went back for it, all while I muttered empty threats of “this is the last time we go back for your mitten. Next time you’ll just have to have a cold hand for the rest of your life!” But we went back. We always go back.