My daughter has an innate capacity to find things that I have misplaced. There was a key, the TV remote, all sorts of things. She’s less skilled finding things SHE loses, such as the DVD remote, which she actually DID come across, after four weeks; it was in her art supply box, and I know I didn’t put it there. She also thought it would be fun to hide the mailbox key that hung on a hook near the front door, but doesn’t know where she left it; now I can’t get the mail until the Wife gets home with the only other key.
Note to Wife: PLEASE get another key made, as it’s been three months now and the key is unlikely at this point just to “turn up.”
One of the things I really hate is being late when there are real consequences. For instance, I hate rushing to an airport, train station, or bus depot to try to get on transportation at the last minute. My job on weekday mornings is to get Lydia to school on time, which is 8:03. Now we live a stone’s throw from the school; this is not cliche, this is the fact that I could stand on my front porch with a stone, toss it, and hit the school building. Well, maybe, I haven’t actually tried it. An MLB baseball outfielder or an NFL football quarterback could surely strike it. But it still takes some time to get the coat on, get the backpack on, lock the door, walk a couple of houses, cross the street and walk most of the length of the building to the entrance.
So when we left the house at 7:59 twice last week, it is cutting it way too close for my tastes. To be fair, the second time was Friday, and she had homework to finish, plus her mom forgot to give her some medicine the night before. But she does tend to procrastinate as well. Sooner or later, when she finally is late, when it takes a little bit too long to cross our busy street, even with the crossing guard there, she’ll figure it out. Meanwhile, it’s only my anxiety, not hers.