Black Hole Backpack

We were in our usual state of frantic, barely-controlled, early morning chaos the other day when my older son decided he needed more note paper in his binder.  He removed said binder from the rotund mesh of nylon and canvas that grudgingly holds all of his schoolwork, and then - could not replace it once it was filled.  He's jamming away and yelling, "I'm gonna be late!" while trying to work his binder into a space that could barely even hold an empty Pee-chee folder.  I did what any mom would do who just wants peace and quiet once the boys leave, and came over to help.  Papers were protruding in every direction imaginable.  They were crumpled, accordion-style, underneath the binder's usual resting spot, and they peeked out timidly from between other dog-eared folders in his backpack.  Something must be done.

I started pulling out papers right and left.  He's yelling in the background, "Just forget it!  I don't know if I need those papers or not!".  But more and more kept coming out of his pack, a tidal wave of math equations and spelling lists that had long been bottled up, like vomit after a 21st birthday celebration (ok, that's a bit much, granted). In any case, there were more than I could handle at that time, and I was able to replace the binder in his stuffed bag just as the bike posse rolled into our court to get my son.

After I sat there, stunned, for a few minutes, I started thinking what I could do to remedy the situation.  I'm stumped.  I buy plastic folders so that he can easily slide papers into a flat receptacle, binder dividers to organize everything, and hanging files for his desk drawers so that he can remove older papers and put them together with others in the proper subject matter.  But it doesn't matter.  He is not concerned with organization and swears he has a system that works for him.  I, on the other hand, get stressed just looking into the black hole that is his backpack.  How's it possible for one individual to lose so much in such a small space?  Thankfully he has a separate lunch bag and we have yet to find the month-old banana that my friends have unearthed in their own boys' packs.

I was still thinking about this as I went to his baseball game.  As scorekeeper I always keep a mechanical pencil in my purse because the nub of a chewed-down No 2 Ticonderoga that accompanies the field scorebook just doesn't cut it.  I was getting myself set up, trying to find my pencil in time to write the opposing team's lineup and still eat my In-N-Out burger before play started.  The clock was ticking and I became more and more frantic as I searched fruitlessly through all of the hundreds of receipts littering my purse.  Multiple checkbooks were in my way.  Sunglasses, hand sanitizer, lotion, eyedrops, and about 20 different lipsticks were all present, but not my trusty pencil.  I suddenly realized: I had the black hole purse that must have spawned the black hole backpack.  How had this happened???  I'm usually pretty organized. And then it hit me.  I can blame my mom.

When I was in high school, I used to take BART to and from high school so that I could attend a private school which was 30 minutes drive-time away from home (and about 2 1/2 hours using mass transit).  In the mornings I would accompany my mom, who had survived the morning commute from suburbs to San Francisco for many years.  She had her routine, like all early-morning commuters: she had to be on the same train car every day, so she could be near the other regulars who traveled like lemmings back and forth each day.  One morning we were running a little behind.  The train was pulling up to the platform as we were downstairs adding money to our BART tickets.  We started sprinting up the escalator, rushing to get down the platform to our usual car.  I hopped off the escalator, started running after my mom, and proceeded to slip and fall, doing a great James Brown impression in the process.  She didn't even turn around.  Just kept on running.  A few men in suits helped me up and I ran for the car she had entered.  My nylons were snagged and blood was running from the cut on my knee.  As I was huffing and puffing to draw breath, she reached into her bulging purse to pull out a full-sized can of Bactine!  I kid you not.  And a band aid.   I was hoping she'd have a spare pair of tights in there, but no luck (I'd have to risk getting a detention for being out of dress code once I removed my own).  I'm not even sure what else could have come out of her purse, a la Mary Poppins, but the possibilities were endless.

As a mom now myself, I realize that my purse is the place for all of my children's stuff.  It houses toys, snacks, extra books, iPods, kleenex, clothing, and anything else that is not too sticky that they can hand off to me.  I guess I can go a bit easier on the boy.  Let me just pull that filing system out of my purse and we'll get started.

It's Like I'm Sherlock Holmes

I work the night shift as a nurse in a busy Pediatric ICU.  The work is emotionally stressful, physically taxing, and mentally challenging - especially at 4 in the morning when you are the charge nurse and have to scramble to rearrange the puzzle pieces to accommodate busy admissions with a short staff and patients who are spiraling down.  Thankfully though, the night shift tends to have more down time than the other shifts (why do you think I've stayed there for the past 14 years?  Certainly not for the coffee).  But it's not always doom and gloom.  Case in point: last night my colleagues had me laughing so hard I was wheezing and wiping away tears of mirth.  I'm sure a parent complaint is on the way.

I come home after work, have a quick breakfast, check in with the family, and go to sleep.  Often that sleep is briefly interrupted by noises from the boys who are home and doing their thing.  We went through a good 3-month period a few years ago where they liked to blast "Rock You Like a Hurricane" at top volume... on repeat. I had some crazy dreams then.  Or, one will offend their sibling and a yelling match ensues, followed by doors slamming and general mayhem.  But I've become an old pro at sleeping through most anything, and I generally wake refreshed and ready to rejoin the family and hear what they've been up to.  When I walk down the hallway toward the living room and family room I never know what I'm going to find... but they leave me ample clues that detail the events of the last 5 to 7 hours.  And now I'm like Sherlock Holmes, piecing together the minute details of a crime scene.

Here's how it typically plays out: I creep warily down the hallway and gird myself for the disastrous view that  assaults me upon first entering the living room - site of many a crime.  Toys are usually strewn everywhere, clothes litter every seating surface, and possibly some new food has been ground into the carpet.  Last year when we were rearranging the boys' rooms we had bookshelves laying in the living room and the boys had rediscovered old toys that they hadn't played with in a while.  It was like trying to navigate a minefield just to get to the kitchen and my beloved coffee.  The scene was vividly laid out in front of me.   "Ah yes, a great battle has taken place between the Stuffies and the Transformers and if I'm not mistaken, Megatron has once again defeated his old nemesis Stripey".

Today, the battlefield is clear, but I glean much information from the detritus that leads, like breadcrumbs (sometimes it literally IS breadcrumbs), from one room to the other to spell out all of the day's activities.  A lacrosse ball which my son grabbed from the sidelines at the Cal vs Oregon game.  How do I know where it came from?  He's written on it with a Sharpie - so, ok, that one was cheating.  The puppy is whining in her crate, but yarns from my area rug lay within view - she's been destroying my nice things again and it looks to be from 25 minutes ago by the size of the drying drool outline.  The boys ate sandwiches and Cheddar Bunnies for lunch, along with Gatorade to wash it down.  This one's easy because the wrappers are right next to the lunch dishes still on the table, and the bread loaf is on the counter with the bag open to invite staleness; the peanut butter jar also open next to a dirty knife.  Breakfast obviously consisted of cereal - Honey Nut Cheerios by the color of the milk remaining in the three bowls on TOP of the dishwasher.  (See previous post about Force Fields).  The paper lays open to the entertaining comics page, next to the past three days' worth of newspapers that need to find their way out to the recycling bin.  An iPod with a dead battery has been discarded on the couch cushions, but it seems they were busy enough that there was no time for a DVD today, because no case is laying open near the television.  And unless I'm mistaken and my husband has taken up solitary daytime drinking, he fell asleep watching the news last night.  A beer bottle with a few last swigs sits on the table next to the rumpled blanket on the couch.  But today's coffee helped to revive him, based on the dried brown ring on the mug next to the computer.

They've since gone out to do guy things together and as much as I hate to perpetuate the gender stereotypes I will gladly stay here, alone in the quiet house, with an episode of the Vampire Diaries to watch while I clean up the mess.  Gotta set the stage for a new day's adventures.