Bridget’s favorite things, no. 11 & Lindsey can’t remember a thing.

This morning Steve and I were in absentia (can I use it that way?) for the morning routine.  We had somewhere to be at an ungodly hour, so a gracious friend of ours came and sat in on the delightful morning-at-the-Hunt’s in our stead.

Let me make it clear that none of what I’m about to say is her fault (in case she reads this, ya know, gotta cover my bases).  And let me also make it clear that what I’m about to say isn’t at all ground-breaking that it should be granted such an introduction as was just given.

Anyway, we don’t worry about William when we’re not around.  I mean, we think about him, miss him, whatever, but we don’t worry like, “Will William remember to put his jacket on?  Will William remember his homework folder?  Will William miss the bus?”  Lindsey knows that William’s got it together, too.  The other day she left for school with her lunch in her hand instead of her backpack.  Recipe for trouble.  Lunch in hand = lunch left on bus seat.  We told her this.

“William will remind me to get it,” she says.

“Lindsey, you can’t rely on William all the time.”

“I know, but really, William will remind me to get it.”

Uh-oh.

So back to today.

I made their lunches the night before so that our gracious friend wouldn’t have to.

I came home at 3, opened the fridge, and there sat Lindsey’s purple lunch bag.

Maybe it’s empty, I thought.  Strange that it’s in the fridge, but just maybe.

I shook it.

Definitely full.

She forgot her lunch.  There are pretty much two things she needs to remember in the morning, every morning, since September when she’s been going to school.  Her backpack and her lunch.  Three things if you count her head but luckily, it’s attached.  So, today, she was lunch-less.  This is especially frustrating because her teacher already suspects me of plotting to destroy the second grade class as I sent Lindsey with almonds once (in a nut-free zone, mind you).  So, I like to be on the ball now.  Sending a child with no lunch and no money to buy lunch is definitely not “on the ball.”  It’s more “bad Mom.”

Alas, by the time I noticed this, the school day was over and Lindsey was granted lunch in the cafeteria.  They don’t let a kid go hungry.  Maybe they should and there’d be way less forgotten lunches, don’t you think (call me “mean Mom” now)?

Moral of the story: Lindsey can’t remember a thing.

Luckily, she is cute.

(Did that totally bore you?)