Well, in my universe (“my” denoting an experiential thing rather than an ownership thing, since clearly this universe is not mine and if it were I might have to sell it on eBay) this thinking does not get you very far. My phone rang at 7:15, which means it had to be some kind of kid disaster. I didn’t make it downstairs before the end of the Monday Night Football theme and so was confronted with T.R.’s name on the screen of missed calls. The voicemail he left was basically noise of other people talking. I called him back and discovered what the problem was.
Here’s the thing. T.R. has not been at my house since Friday morning when I took him to school. He didn’t go through the process of thinking about whether he had his jersey on Friday at school until AFTER he had me all flustered and worried about whether he could by some weird accident of fate have left it here. No one else at Rick’s house went through it, either. It took me a while to get there, myself, because I went into panic mode on the usual assumption that if something is wrong, it must be my fault.
However, it was extremely easy to determine that the jersey was not here because I cleaned house. I cleaned T.R.’s room. His hamper contains one dust rag from the cleaning process. The jersey is not in the stack of clean laundry on his clean-sheeted bed. Also, upon reflection, I knew he took it with him to school on Friday because we talked about how he hadn’t put his backpack together Thursday night like I asked him to do.
I tried to calm down after I got off the phone. Eventually, I called Rick to find out if they found it. They didn’t. Rick says he will take care of it today, one way or another, so that I won’t have to figure it out on the fly tomorrow.
A sane person would let it go. Me, I’m still trying to figure out where I screwed up.