Sometimes…even with just two kids we forget one somewhere.

Like at preschool.

For twenty minutes until the teacher calls and asks if we’re coming.

Only…we’re not.  Because we can’t.

At which time we tie up each other’s phone lines with desperate voice mail wondering, “how could this be?”

“I thought you were…” we stammer.

But it doesn’t matter.

Our preschool teacher laughs a non-laugh when we call back.  Surely she’s put out, but she’s kind enough not to say so.  What does concern her, though, is the $135 our son brought to school.

She hears the air leave my lungs and says it again. “A hundred and thirty-five bucks.  To preschool.”

She thought I should know.

And she’s right.

It is a sweet reunion with my little boy and his backpack.

And the money–well, it’s nice to see again, too–even if it had to be pulled limp and sweaty from the inside of my son’s rain boot.