I remember once, in high school, I walked right out of Wal-Mart, leaving my purse behind. It probably wasn’t the first time I had done that — I know it wasn’t the last. Once I left it next to a kiosk in the mall.
Anyway, in the parking lot I realized I left my purse in Wal-Mart, and my mother called me “scatter-brained.” Boy, did that ever make me mad. I still remember the injustice of it all (everything is unjust when you’re a teenager, remember — but I still maintain I was never THAT forgetful).
Things have come full circle. Here is an inventory of what Laurel has lost or forgotten in the past month:
- Lost: A 3/4-size violin shoulder rest, one week after receiving it (replacement paid for with her own money);
- Lost: A book from a book order, on the same day she received it (later recovered);
- Lost: A recorder. It appears she actually has a concert coming up in which she is supposed to play said recorder. When I asked her how long she’d been without the recorder she was supposed to be using to practice in music, she responded with a shrug, “Uh, I dunno. Maybe two or three classes.” The replacement was also paid for with her own money;
- Forgotten: What she did in school today. And yesterday. And for every day in the previous month.
- Forgotten: Her street shoes and socks, which she would have to wear after playing soccer. Multiple occasions.
- Forgotten: To turn in permission slips and money for a field trip and for Holiday Extravaganza tickets. She did, after three days of stern reminders and idle threats, remember to turn them in – she claims. I know they finally disappeared from her folders. These permission slips are now AWOL at the school, without any determination as to who lost them this time. I am flatly refusing to replace the money.
Oh, Laurel. I love you, kid, I really do. But good grief.
Will she or won’t she get to go on her field trip tomorrow?