Boxed In

Last night, as I'm tucking in my sixth grader, my third grader shows up at the door of his brother's room, with his homework planner in hand. "Mom?" The look on his face and the tone in his voice make it pretty obvious that he needs something for the next day and he hasn't told me about it yet. Sigh. If it's something I have to buy or cook, he's clearly out of luck.

When I get out into the hallway to see him, the suspense is already giving me a headache. "I need to bring in an empty tissue box tomorrow." %$#@, I think I just replaced the one in the bathroom a couple of days ago. We look. Sure enough, it's almost full. I glance at my son, who's still looking at me hopefully. Sigh. This is why parents do the goofy things we do. I search in his room (across the hall from the bathroom) for something that will help.

Not that we're expecting visitors in the next few days, but if you happen to drop by the house and use the bathroom, maybe you won't think it's quite so odd to see this:

Signed,

Mom whose kid went to sleep with a smile on his face.