The school-year bane of my stay at home father existence. The albatross hanging around my back, rather than either of my children’s, where they rightfully belong. More than the fish, dogs, frogs, guinea pigs, homework, water bottles, shoes, even the constant search for bankies. Years of my life spent searching for and cursing at those things, but nothing like the goddamn backpack.
First it was Sophie. Years of forgetting it. I put it by the door. Outside on the way to the car. Stapled to her face. Still, we get to school and she gets out of the car like a tiny famous person running to a red carpet party. No backpack.
“Sophie. Where is your backpack.”
Shrugs. Tears. Trip back home with me because I’ll be damned if she’s gonna have it delivered to her class later. You can get a tardy slip and listen to me for the next 10 minutes in the car. You’re gonna learn your lesson that you’ll never learn. Yay, crying school dropoff that ruins the whole day. Yeeha!
Now Sophie finally remembers. Never forgets. And Lilah never remembers. Always forgets.
Morning. Breakfast. Lunch packing. Whirlwind.
“Lilah I need your lunchbox. Where is your backpack?”
Blank face. Forefinger to lip. Toe tapping. What am I raising two vaudeville actresses?
“I’m not wearing it so don’t look at me. Check other places in the world you’ve been.” I’m a dick but I’m in a hurry and I’m sick of them looking for things by staring at me in the face for minutes at a time. I’m not going to leak out hints about wherever the latest thing you’ve lost is, like poker tells. I really don’t know. Look around.
Five minutes later. Flying her stuffed Insectosaurus over the banister on the stairs. No shoes, no sunscreen, no teeth brushed, no breakfast. And, of course, no backpack.
“Lilah. Your backpack.”
Same blank look. Dammit. You really can’t even begin to imagine where the stupid thing MIGHT be? After all this time? Look one of the three places where you always leave it. Start there! OK, I’ll help solve this deep mystery.
“Have you looked in the car.”
She snaps her finger loudly and taps her temple, turning around and sprinting outside.
Surprise surprise it was in the car! Left it there after school yesterday? Who woulda thunk it?
I fill it up with her lunchbox and crap she needs for the day. Put it right in front of the door so she’d have to step over it to miss it. Shoes and sunscreen and let’s get to the car we’re gonna be late!
Kiss Mom and get in the car and put on your seatbelts and…
“Lilah WHERE IS YOUR BACKPACK!”
“Oh, yeah,” she says with a smile, a minor oversight good chap, my apologies, I’ll take care of that really quick daddy, kind of smile.
I get out and reopen the locked front door of the house and get back in the car and start it up. After approximately an hour of us waiting, she finally barges through her sliding car door, holding something in her hand.
“Look it’s a slug! It’s a big one.”
A big, gross, green and grey slug slowly crawls up her palm.
“Eww!” Sophie says but touches it anyway.
“It’s huge!” Lilah exclaims proudly. “I saved him he was in the middle of the sidewalk and somebody coulda squished him right a…”
“Oh my God Lilah your backpack. Your damn backpack,” I said, so exasperated I couldn’t even raise my voice anymore. Her backpack lay right in the middle of our walkway, slug ground zero, where she had saved her slimy friend and immediately forgotten about her goddamned backpack. Her blue and purple plaid backpack. Come to think of it, the same hand-me-down backpack that Sophie had forgotten herself a million times in her earlier elementary career. Maybe it was the backpack’s fault. Maybe it was cursed.
Sophie laughed her hearty little kid laugh, higher and more like she laughed a few years ago. It was so funny to watch her goofy sister. Especially to watch her get in trouble for something that she used to get in trouble for. Now she could see it from my vantage point. In the car, waiting for the 3rd time. Delicious. Annoying.
Lilah marched back theatrically, the pack still too large and swaying on her back as she soldiered on, expecting my beratement at any moment. I laughed instead. So we’ll be late again. Oh well. Lilah smiled and bounded into the car, closing her automatic door.
“No slugs at school Lilah,” I said, noticing the offender tucked in her palm as she pressed the automatic button. I reopened the door and she hopped out.
“Urgghh!” She snapped her fingers in swinging, street urchin frustration, tossing him in the bushes before jumping back in.
“Yeah how do you think I feel?” I said and shot out of the driveway, nearly running over our neighbor who was walking her dog backwards in the middle of our street, not looking as she talked to someone out of sight behind her. Spare me the dirty look and watch where you’re going. We’re late and I’ve got backpacks to deliver.
Ah, but such good training. Some day, believe it or not, you will have a backpack of your own and you will NEVER misplace it or forget it. The raising of the wee ones is practice for being the old ones. It’s really all the same stuff. Just in slow motion. Designed to someday make your own kids crazy!