Brought To You by the Letter L

Friday afternoon I let Charlotte watch Cailiou on the laptop computer.  (We often use the laptop to watch shows and movies from Netflix, sometimes hooking it up to our flat screen TV, other times not.)  Frederick was taking a nap in his bouncy seat (one of these days I'll start having him nap in his crib...maybe), and I was running around trying to get ready to drop the kiddos off with my parents and head out to the Rodeo BBQ Cook-off.  I kept a general eye on Miss Charlotte, who seemed to be engrossed in the program.

As I'm making bottles in the kitchen she comes pattering in and hands me a wet, bent piece of black plastic, "Here, Mommy, this is for you."

"Umm, Charlotte, what is this?"

"It's a button!"

"What?"

I turn the little piece over and see the letter L marked on it.  Realization finally hits that she's pulled one of the little keys off of the laptop sends several thoughts through my mind as I become upset.  First, I think Fred is going to blame me for letting her sit at the laptop unsupervised.  I wonder where, or even if, you can get replacement laptop keyboard letters.  I think that if the key looks this bent up, she must have done a number to the gadgetry under it, and a replacement piece of plastic might be useless; I may not be able to functionally type without having someone replace the entire laptop keyboard.  I thank God she didn't choke on the little piece of plastic, which also bears a couple of teeth marks. Perhaps I should have had the last thought first.

I was mad and quickly jumped all over Charlotte about braking the computer.  Seeing that I was upset, she quickly and earnestly said, "I'm sorry, I'm sorry."  I never know if she's truly sorry - I'm not quite certain she fully understands the meaning of the word, but, as always, that deflated a little of my frustration.  She follows this with, "It's going to be all right."

As pick up the laptop, I am relieved to see that L is the only missing key.  After straightening out the key as best I can (now sporting a white line where it had beenbent), I am amazed to find that it snaps right back in place like it should.  While I'm repairing the keyboard, she steps closer, puts one arm around my back and rubs my arm with her hand, saying softly, "It's okay.  It's okay.  It's going to be all right."

And really, who can be angry with that much sweetness?