Earlier this week, my son was searching everywhere in his room for the battery charger to his remote control truck. And by everywhere, I mean he looked in the underwear basket in his closet, in the hard to open because it's jammed with all kinds of important crap desk drawer, and on top of the pile of dirty clothes he leaves piled up on the floor - logical places one might find all sorts of missing items.
He asked for my help and I dug through the large heavy-duty plastic container he uses as a toy bin, to no avail.
It was lost and he was TICKED OFF, stomping around, sulking, accusing me of putting it somewhere the last time I cleaned his room (and yes, I know, he's old enough to clean his own room, but a mother's gonna hold onto her ability to legitimately snoop, I mean clean, as long as possible, no?)
The very next night he came to me with a sheepish smile, saying, "Um, Mum? You know that charger I said you lost? Um, well, I kinda found it on my book shelf where I put it." He gave me a hug along with his "I'm really sorry I got mad at you".
We agreed we wouldn't share this with his stepdad because Jeff often mentions my own inability to find anything because according to him, I tend to look with my eyes closed and it would seem I may have passed this trait along.
So, as the saying goes, the apple doesn't fall far from the tree, but that's probably because it's also sitting on the bookshelf, waiting to be found.
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