For Whom the Elevator Tolls

Last week, Melese and I took a walk over to the Provo Library. Fast-forward to me checking out- you gotta love the handy little do-it-yourself machines! Reese was at my side as I scanned and beeped my way through our stack; in the time it took to check out two movies and three childrens' books Reese had disappeared. Yes. That's right, gone without a trace! I'm not really the panicky type- more the kind that is sure my child is wreaking havoc somewhere, so I quickly gathered up and started searching the first floor while Mese took the Children's Wing. I glanced at the Librarian offices and thought to myself, "Oh crap. I bet she ran back there... they're gonna be SO mad at us!"

Let me explain. I don't know if this is something that only I experience- maybe I've just got bad karma, or unknowingly wear a sticker with the words "I HATE LIBRARIANS!" stamped on it each time I visit, but has anyone else noticed that some of the prerequisites for Public Librarian must be 'tight-lipped', 'hissing voice' and 'crabby without cause'? I have yet to meet one that isn't annoyed, severe and well. . . down-right scary! While in Montana, I could visibly see one librarian's face redden, swell, and threaten to explode each and every time Reese and I entered his section. My rambunctious two-year-old probably didn't do much to help the situation. It's nothing at all like Reading Rainbow, and my inner child feels utterly betrayed.

Anyway, I just knew we were going to be banished or at the very least have our knuckles rapped smartly with a ruler.

Just as I prepared to go in, a very jolly red-headed man in a plaid flannel shirt emerged from the elevator with a smile. "Are you looking for your daughter?" He asked me. Was it that obvious? Did I have that 'crazed parent' look in my eye? Yes. I was. "Well, she's uptairs," he said, and his eyes twinkled like he'd been laughing his whole way down.

Reese had taken the elevator without me even knowing! And to make matters worse, she - the chattiest, happiest, random-screamer-of-the-word-'Shepup!' was now loose on the Silent Floor without any supervision. Heaven help us!

I ran to the elevator, hit the button and waited what seemed like an eternity for the doors to open. When we finally reached the upstairs and the doors chimed open again, this is what I saw:

Reese, smiling and happy as can be, was standing there, her chubby little hand clutched in the larger one of an EXREMELY unhappy librarian with pursed lips and a way-too-tight bun that seemed to pull the corners of her eyes up slightly from the strain of it. The same eyes bored two smoking holes into me, the silence hung thick, and all I could manage to say was,

"Umm, she's er. . . mine."

She handed Reese over to me, saying nothing, and walked away. On the way down, we had a little chat about not leaving Mommy, and staying very close, and holding hands. Reese, unusually calm and still, replied only, "Ok, mommy. Yes." I feel pretty confident that this was not the first lecture she'd received while visiting the library that day.

Melese was waiting for us on the first floor, and we roared with laughter as I related the tale- that is until the librarian at the circulation desk looked up from royally chewing out a poor, bedraggled mother with four kids and a question about a fine to give us the evil eye.

We made a break for the exit and fresh air where we could laugh to our hearts' content without fear or threat of punishment.