Keeping Track

Keeping Track

“Have you seen my car keys,” Bob asked.

“Nope,” his wife Maida answered.

“Mom, where’s my backpack,” asked her son.

“I don’t know anything about it.”

“Did you make me a lunch?” asked her teenaged daughter.

“Maybe.”

Her family, looking concerned, gathered around her.

“Maida, are you all right?”

“Mom, what’s wrong?” asked the two kids in unison.

“Nothing. I just thought all of you might want some autonomy.”

“Why?” asked Bob.

“I feel like I have trained you well. I have places for everything. Just because you don’t always put them there, isn’t my choice. Before asking, check in the places designated for what you are looking for. Retrace your steps if necessary. I am not a date planner after all.”

“But don’t you want to feel wanted?”

“Don’t you want to be useful?”

“This being the only person who keeps track of everything around here is getting monotonous. I want you all to try doing these things for yourself for a week starting Monday.”

Having no real choice, her family reluctantly agreed. Then the fun began. A few times, Maida watched one of her family make moves as if to approach her with an obvious question on their lips.

When she saw the signs, she pretended to be napping, reading or counting stitches. It wasn’t long before they didn’t even attempt to approach her concerning where something was. She smiled to herself to see it.

“Honey, have you seen my purse?” she asked one morning.

“On the chair in the bedroom,” her husband replied absently.

Maida burst out laughing.

“What’s so funny?” he asked.

“I always keep my purse there when I’m not using it,” she told him.

“Do you? I never noticed.”

Maida gave him a skeptical look and went off to get her handbag.