I was standing at the dryer folding a load of clothes when my better half ambles by. I'm going to go put gas in the car so it will be ready for tomorrow, he says. We're delivering a Christmas present that had to be exchanged via mail for a different size...a great excuse for dinner with the kids, as if we really needed one. I was a bit confused by his plan; after all, it's dinner so there will be plenty of time to do it on the way out of town. But he's a good boy scout...always prepared and all that so out the door he went.
And as he did I saw the familiar shape tucked in his hand. He wasn't exactly hiding it but he certainly wasn't waving it around either. It was down low and close to him...a bit surreptitiously. I started to let it go but couldn't resist so I opened the door to the garage and called out after him: Do you need the GPS to find the gas station or to find your way home? Like a five-year-old caught with his hand in the cookie jar, he gave me a sheepish grin and crawled in the car.
It's not like he needs my permission to go caching but I think he was hoping to avoid some grief. He cached all day Sunday, driving several hours to some nature preserve then hiking ten miles before driving home again. He was weary when he walked in...well, walking might not be the best description of his gait. He shuffled and stepped gingerly, looking like 110-year-old man thanks to multiple blisters on his feet. And he swore off caching for a few days to recover...but we all know how that goes.
I laughed to myself as I closed the door and returned to my laundry. It may be years since there were boys trying pull the wool over my eyes but my Mom-radar still works. And for the record, I didn't harass him at all when he returned. Really. I saved it for the blog. : )