It was a typical morning and I was barking out directions to Thing 2. Clean up noodles off floor? Check! Remove underwear from ceiling fan and stuff into drawers (i.e., out of sight, out of mind)? Check! Take my bra off the cat and return to me? Check! Check! Check! All was going well.
Except when the schoolbus pulled away, I noticed that his brown bag lunch was still sitting on the kitchen table. Surprisingly, this happens quite infrequently. This was the first time I ever drove to school to deliver his brown bag. (Most of the time I just let him beg table scraps from the other kids).
The school secretary pointed me to a small wooden table just inside the door of the school where I was to place his lunch. There was already a bag there, with a child's named calligraphied on it in thick black Sharpie and with edges folded so precisely it made me weep. It looked like this: