Senior Moment

I recently celebrated a birthday that edges me closer to 50 than 40, and my daughter has predictably started teasing me about having senior moments. You know, those times you forget something you clearly should have remembered? Like wondering where your glasses are when they're sitting on top of your head.

I pride myself on having a razor sharp wit. (Whether I'm witty or not is still up for debate.) And so I don't exactly relish any senior moments that happen to me. I try to laugh them off and blame my pre-dinner insulin shot. Anything but accepting that my brain isn't quite what it used to be. (Is there an old home remedy for senior moment-itis? Sigh. Didn't think so...)

So I was thrilled when my teen daughter had a senior moment of her own.

My eighteen-year-old daughter is a collage sophmore. She's chosen extremely tough class load at school, with multiple hours of homework each night.

Add in club soccer, volunteer work, refereeing to make a buck, and she doesn't even have time to set the dinner table.

Okay, before anyone calls Child Protective Services, please know my ex and I talked to our daughter, and suggested she lighten her load. One less class won't make her collage transcripts look bad. And the time saved will be a huge benefit to her mental and physical health.

My daughter agreed, talked to her counselor, dropped a homework-intensive history class, and was good to go.

She texted me one morning from her school: have you seen my history book? I need to turn it in.

I was off work, so it was simple enough to duck into her room and look. No book on her desk, in the dresser, on the floor, on her bed. I texted: not here.

Twenty minutes later, another text from here: I'm sure I brought it to your house from mom's.

Okay, my daughter is Miss Super Student. More than once, she's been the sharpest tool in the shed. So of course, I figured I was having a senior moment and I'd overlooked the history book in her room. I searched again. No luck. I texted her back: sorry, it's not here.

She texted me: okay, I'll check my car.

If my daughter lost her book, it wouldn't be a big deal. She simply have to pay for a replacement. Textbooks aren't cheap, and teens don't make much money, so it would hit her where it counts. But she'd survive. Maybe even learn a lesson from it.

A few hours later, I received a text from her: I just remembered - I turned the textbook back in before school this morning.

Can you say "senior moment"?

I can. And she'll never hear the end of it. I guarantee.