Backpack, Backpack

Joe here . . .

Well, this morning we had an incident. Trina had to get to work a little earlier this morning so I was in charge of getting all the boys stuff together. No big deal. I've done it before. I got the boys out to the car and we were early heading out. We went to McDonalds for breakfast today instead of the usual homemade breakfast. They were very quick today and we got to the preschool at about 5:40. We have to wait until about 5:55 to get in since they don't open up for us until 6. So, the boys ate their breakfasts and I sat listening to the radio for the next fifteen minutes.

Time came to go in. The boys were done and everything was going smoothly. Until, I asked Michael where his backpack was. It was answered with the much expected "I don't know." My reaction, "WHAAAT! Are you kidding me!" Then it was followed by a punch to the top of the car. I mean, we sat there for 15 minutes doing nothing! We would've had plenty of time to go back home and get it. As angry as I was I felt bad for Michael as he was crying because he was so upset. He takes school seriously and he prides himself on being a model student so the anticipation of getting in trouble for not having his folder (which was in his backpack of course) was unthinkable to him. I did my best to control my anger (albeit that's not my strong point). I tried to console him, but he was still upset.

I immediately got on the phone to Trina and asked her how much trouble he'd be in. She informed me he'd get into a decent amount of trouble. It is first grade after all! So she came up with the idea of calling Grandma and Grandpa Madole to see if they could get his backpack and drop it off for him. I was able to calm Michael down with this information and he regained his composure (as did I). We went in to the preschool and went about our usual routine.

All's well that ends well. Grandma and Grandpa saved the day! They were able to drop off the backpack to Michael at the preschool so he had it before he even got to his school. The moral of the story (if there has to be one) is that no matter how smart, mature and responsible a 6-year-old may seem, he is still a 6-year-old. When going out to the car in the morning always make sure you, as the parent, go last so you can see the backpacks on the boys' backs. Thank you, Grandma and Grandpa. You came to our rescue once again.