On the Feast Day of St. Anthony of Padua, patron saint of lost items, Kerry Trotter reflects on the increased frequency with which she could his help.
Mondays aren’t normally my sharpest days.
But this one hit an all-time dull.
I had just hoisted my daughter from her booster seat, fresh off a mac-and-cheese lunch, and was gearing up for that delightfully contented hour of play before naptime. She was happy, I was happy, and we were simply reveling in our togetherness when the serpentine unease of a forgotten thought slithered into my head.
You know, the thought that should have slithered in hours earlier but was suspended in the muck of my brain matter, clogged with so many work deadlines and Elmo songs.
I was supposed to have lunch with a friend today. In fact, an hour before.
I had completely—I mean, completely—forgotten about it.
Panicked, I leaped to my feet and ran to the computer. An email waited...