It was really hard to get out the door to church this morning. Well, we got out the door, but one of us was crumpled on the sidewalk, sobbing over the sad and unexpected fate of Uncle Teaspoon. She was unpersuadable for quite some time. None of the other spoons could console her.

Abi had a plastic cup full of plastic spoons of different sizes and colors, and I’d given her permission to take it in the car. These spoons were, of course, an entire family: babies, parents, brothers, sisters, aunts and uncles. Just before we left, she stuck another favorite spoon into the cup, a metal measuring spoon that I immediately removed on our way out the door because I didn’t want it to get lost. It took awhile for me to figure out why she was so heartbroken. “I want uncle to come,” she wailed, again and again. Uncle? Who was uncle? Oh. Right. The teaspoon.

We told her she didn’t need it. We told her Uncle Teaspoon wanted to stay home. We told her he needed to stay and get lunch ready for the other spoons. He wanted to watch over the house while we were gone. Abigail was having none of it at first, but finally she calmed enough for me to wipe her tears and put her in her carseat. “Can Uncle Teaspoon come with us now, mommy? Please?” she asked.

“No. I told you. Uncle Teaspoon wants to stay home and and make spoon lunch.”
Her dad started the car. “I am really appreciating the absurdity of this conversation,” he said.
Abi resigned herself to the situation and played with her other spoons.