Silver Lining City

Mother: You’re right. It’s sort of off-white.

Child: What’s off-white?

Mother: The coffee table.

Child: No. What does off-white mean?

Mother: It means it’s not a bright white. Please go look around the coffee table for Legos.

Child: Which coffee table?

Mother: The off-white one.

Child: This one? {points to the black one}

Mother: No. Are you kidding me? Does that look off-white? The one in the front room.

Child: {leaves room. comes back.} I didn’t see any Legos on the floor.

Mother: In the Lego room? You don’t see any Legos on the floor? So if I go in there, I am not going to see any Legos that haven’t found their home for the night?

Child: You said I could keep my city out.

Mother: Yes. You may keep your in-progress pieces out. Just as you can every single night. I am talking about one-off Lego pieces that, when left out, end up in your little brother’s mouth. So if I go into the other room and take a peek, there won’t be any of those out, right?

Child: Right. But let me go check.

Mother: K.

Child: {enters room after hoofing it all the way to the front of the house, nearly out of breath} Okay. All the Legos are put away.

Mother: Okay. {Walks into other room with child} So I see a blue Lego and the yellow one and the two white ones together by the table?

Child: What table?

Mother: The table right in front of me. And you. The table with all of your creations on it. On the floor, next to that table, the Legos that I am pointing directly at, right now.

Child: Where?

Mother: The Legos that I am putting my foot right next to. That my big toe is nearly touching.

Child: Which one is your big toe? The tall one?

Mother: No. The one like my thumb. That’s my big toe.

Child: Oh. Why is that called your big toe? It’s not the biggest.

Mother: It just is. The Legos. Can you just pick up the last few Legos.

Child: Oh, those Legos. I didn’t get those out.

Mother: Ohhhh… they magically got themselves out.

Child: {giggles.} Mo-om-mm-y! You’re silly. I wasn’t playing with those. That’s why I didn’t see them.

Mother: Are they shared Legos from a Lego collection?

Child: Yes. But I wasn’t using them.

Mother: K. So noted. Can you just pick them up and put them away?

Child: Can you help?

Mother: Well, I suppose I can’t use the excuse that I wasn’t playing with them…

……………………………………………………..

I remember quite a bit about my childhood. And one thing that I can recall is thinking my mother always knew where everything was. I would look and look for something — let’s say, my left shoe — for hours… walk through the desert and over the mountains and search for weeks and months on end… and then poof! like magic she could locate that left shoe in a millisecond. I used to think she had some sort of magic power. Now I realize that it was because the items were actually IN PLAIN SIGHT. Right in front of me. That’s where every single thing she asked me to pick up likely was. My coat. Right in front of me. The other red high heel for Holiday Barbie. Right in front of me. The cup that I’d used the day before. Exactly where I’d left it. The hair tie I was certain I’d put away. Where I’d decided to take it out. My tap shoes. In the same spot they were every single time I went looking. And my softball glove. Right. In. Front. Of. Me.

And you know how I now know this? Because that is where everything my children can’t find, can’t see, and is certainly lost forever, actually is. Right in front of them. But hey, at least they put toys away, right?

Yep. That’s right, I’m finding the silver lining. I’m just silver lining city over here. And suppose, for that, I’m lucky. Because I can actually see the silver lining. If it were left entirely up to my children, we’d never find it. In fact… we’d never find anything.