I think we can all agree that the sleep-away summer camp is the single greatest invention in the history of parenting. You really can’t oversell this one. The parents get a break from refereeing and nagging, and the kids get to swim, climb, hike, and try new things without giving their parents the satisfaction of knowing about it. Summer camp is also the only time Justin gets excited about being in a non-digital environment for a week. It’s win-win.

The only knock against summer camp is the fact that it is a giant black hole into which my kids’ possessions disappear. Over the years, I have donated four towels, two shirts, three socks, and a set of glasses. (On the other hand, the little bottles of soap and shampoo that I throw in never go astray; they always come back untouched.)

So this year when it was time to come home, Justin insisted he had everything. I wasn’t foolish enough to accept this at face value. We’re talking about a guy who will insist he washed his hands despite not having been within three feet of a known water source. But incredibly, it turned out that everything that went to camp also came home from camp. When I asked him how he’d done it, he said, and I quote, “I just picked up all the stuff that was mine.”

If only someone had explained that to him before.

Our second born is a “typical” child, which is to say he can be a huge pain in the ass. I would conservatively estimate that 95% of his waking hours are devoted to annoying the people around him. He hasn’t actually ended up in the principal’s office or been beaten up on the playground, but it’s only a matter of time. Yes. He’s that kid.

At least at home he is. I get a completely different vibe from his teachers, who have been singing his praises for years. His report cards consistently describe him as a bright, well-mannered and well-adjusted young man. The fact that the teacher he started out with in September has been on stress leave for the past four months is probably just a coincidence.

But once in a while, his redeeming qualities shine through. Yesterday I took Brayden shopping for his brother’s upcoming birthday. For years now I’ve been trying to get my kids to independently come up with thoughtful gift ideas for each other, but what usually ends up happening is:

a) they avoid the whole issue by mutually agreeing not to buy each other anything, or
b) they find something they themselves want and make a I’ll-buy-you-this-if-you’ll-buy-me-that deal.

So I was pleasantly surprised when Brayden came up with a gift idea for Justin that was appropriate, well thought out and within his budget. It was also what I’d already purchased, but I applauded his effort.

It took us a while, but we did manage to find something else. And in a fitting twist, he ended up spending almost as much on candy as he did on his brother.

I guess it all balances out.

Sometimes I wish I could staple items directly to my children’s foreheads so I could have some hope of seeing the stuff again. How is it that a compulsively organized planner like myself managed to spawn two of the most scatterbrained human beings ever conceived?

Here’s a brief rundown of the fun we’ve had just in the past couple months:

Justin came home from a trip to the pool holding a) a towel and b) a plastic bag with nothing in it. No goggles, no swim shorts. Both were eventually located in the pool’s lost and found (which is so abundant that they actually divide the stuff into different boxes for each day of the week.)

Brayden’s student planner hasn’t been seen for two weeks. He’s been writing me important notes on scraps of crumpled notebook paper, not all of which remain intact enough to read.

Justin lost his towel on a school winter camping trip. (This is his signature move: he left his towel at summer camp four years in a row.) Before I even knew it was missing, one of the parent chaperones said she’d found a towel and asked if it was ours. I was not at all surprised that she came to me first.

Brayden lost his swim shorts on a class trip despite his own father being along as chaperone. The shorts were eventually discovered on the floor of his classroom, right under the shoes that were supposed to be up on a shelf. Sigh.

One of Justin’s snack bowls is permanently AWOL. I’m fairly sure it disappeared into the abyss that is his school desk, but by this point I no longer want to see it. Or smell it.

So when Brayden came out of the pool change room today, I asked if he had everything. I specifically asked about his swim shorts (see above), socks (cause he refuses to put them on again after swimming), and underwear (don’t ask). He got all offended and swore everything was in his bag.

At that exact moment, Justin opened the door of the change room and tossed out Brayden’s goggles.

Tell me we’re not alone.