This Mother’s Day finds me with a 17 year old and with 17 comes a good deal of independence. Not so much independence that I don’t have to find all of his missing things, typically after 10 pm when I have clocked out for the day and tucked myself into bed with a book that I am reading one sentence at a time, just before I crash asleep.
He never loses his car keys, his iPad, or his phone, but for the love of god, my son loses a lot of crap.
Lip balm is chief among his missing items and I have bought gallons of lip balm over the years. One day, I will find it all and then I’ll have a lifetime supply for all of my friends and acquaintances. That day isn’t today.
In the time I have left after locating the lip balm, I find the sport-related clothing my son needs RIGHT NOW. It’s typically washed, folded, and in one of the many laundry baskets we own. They are invisible to teenagers and that’s why he passes them by in the living room, forgetting to carry them upstairs. This is also why he can’t find his running shorts. Pants for school also go missing in this very same fashion. Any number of school-themed sweatshirts, all in the color of maroon or black, also fall into this black hole. I can find them all.
Remaining time is spent locating items in the pantry that my son is sure we are out off: peanut butter and granola bars, I’m looking at you.
Someday soon, JT will head off to college and I will miss these moments when he’s desperately searching for an item that is right in front of him. Or, at least, I will miss him. I fantasize that I won’t miss the search and rescue portion of the job.
Until then, I am the search and rescue genius of Sassafras House. It’s a skill I have honed over the years, all made possible because I have a uterus. And never-ending patience when I need it most.
Happy Mother's Day to my fellow travelers, the women who always know where things can be found.