Number 6 can be kind of forgetful.
Okay, that’s not accurate.
He can be really forgetful.
He’ll be eight in a couple weeks, so he’s not exactly a baby.
But he is my youngest son, and I don’t know what it is about boys and their moms, but I will be the first to admit that this kid is my kryptonite.
All of our kids are fairly intelligent — some more than others — but I’ve been saying for a long time that Number 6 is off-the-charts smart.
First of all, his head is humongous and I don’t think having a big head is like a guarantee or anything that you have more brain power than the majority of the population, but in his case I believe it does.
So he’s not a baby and he’s no dummy.
But when he forgets things I have kind of been making excuses for him, I guess.
You know like, he’s one of those super scatter brained, disorganized gifted kids who is just never going to bee good at keeping track of his stuff and he needs help.
Last week he was walked up to the plate at his baseball game without his helmet on.
On Saturday when his game was over he climbed into the backseat of the car, put his bag down next to him on the floor, and buckled his seatbelt.
And then his coach came over to the car with his glove.
“Is this Number 6’s?” he asked me.
I looked back at Number 6 and asked him, “Did you get your bag?”
“Yeah!” he said. “But there’s nothing in it,” he added, matter-of-factly.
His batting helmet, glove, water bottle and sweatshirt were all still in the dugout.
So I got out of the car, got his stuff, and drove home.
On Tuesday morning we couldn’t find his school backpack. It was nowhere to be found.
Last night my parents drove Number 3 to swim practice (45 minutes away) and I asked them if they could look for Number 6’s backpack while they were there, because that’s the last place we remembered seeing it.
Sure enough I received a text from my parents letting me know they had recovered Number 6’s backpack. The found it on a table inside of a locked gate that my 73-year-old father climbed over in order to get to it.
This afternoon I went to Number 7’s art show, and Number 5 and 6 came, too. While we were there we saw Number 6’s baseball coach.
He said to Number 6, “I have you baseball bag, jacket and glove in my car.”
I had a slight panic attack and then he told me he was joking.
Number 6 now has a reputation that precedes him.
But last night Number 6 did something else.
He wrote this note:
Dear Tooth Fairy,
I lost my tooth a couple days ago, literally it’s gone missing. I’m hoping you could give me the money because it’s gone missing. Please give me the money. 🙂
P.S. My name is Number 6
When we were at my parents’ house after the tornado/macroburst, Number 6 lost a tooth. And I put in in a plastic baggie and we were going to put it under his pillow once we got home because he was sleeping on an air mattress wedged between a wall and a bed at my parents’ house and I was afraid if I climbed up over it to get his tooth I’d either pop the air mattress or catapult him across the room
And then the baggie disappeared.
After accepting that the tooth baggie was gone, he apparently took it upon himself to write this letter with no help, no reminders, no anything.
Apparently when money is on the line he’s quite capable of being proactive and finding solutions for the stuff he loses.
It appears as though I’m also kind of an enabler and part of the problem.
Because kids who always forget have parents who always remember.
And I guess it’s time for me to start being the forgetful one.
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