“My husband’s not going to be happy to not have a booster,” a lacrosse mom says to me as she packs up her daughter to head out. Her and her husband are doing the swap. With three boys who play three different sports, it’s a move my husband and I have perfected this spring.
A booster seat lifts a child in a seat so that a shoulder and lap belt restrain them properly. Ohio law requires all kids under age eight (or under 4’9”) be secured in a booster seat while riding in a moving vehicle.
“You could leave it with me,” I offer.
She considers this. “You don’t mind?”
“I’ll be sitting over there,” I point to a bench smack between F.’s practice field and the playground where A. is climbing up a slide. I plan to swivel my head between the two for the next hour.
Chaz sends a text telling me Mason cancelled I.’s baseball game and they’ll join us soon. All of us in the same place on a weekday is an unexpected surprise. I text back where I am.
“Nice seat,” he says when he strolls up. I swear that man can make anything dirty.
“I’m holding it for someone,” I answer sweetly.
“I don’t know,” I admit. Chaz’ face twists in confusion but he doesn’t ask. “I’m hoping he finds me.”
It’s a reasonable assumption. I’m the only one sitting on a bench with a bright orange booster seat. Just then, a well-dressed man straight out of the boardroom walks across the track towards me. I stand as he approaches.
“Looking for one of these?” I smile and pass him the car seat.
He takes it and we stand and talk for a minute.
The whistle blows the ends practice and the boys tear across the field towards waiting parents. His son runs past him towards the parking lot eager to get home. The man waves thanks and turns in hot pursuit, the soles of his polished leather shoes splashing in the muddy field.