Baby Monkey is a cool kid.
He’s only 9, so his peers haven’t necessarily figured that out yet, but he’s a cool kid.
He’s got a lot of different interests, a great sense of humor, a general sense that he’s not really too concerned what others think of him, and he’s just a really good little guy.
However, sometimes I can’t quite figure him out.
In January, I picked up his backpack to move it out of the way, because we were expecting company, and I needed to throw everything into the laundry room and shut the door.
I was surprised when I almost tore my bicep, trying to raise it off the floor.
“Baby Monkey! What do you have in here?”
So, we opened it up and took a peek.
He had four big books, a dictionary, and a bunch of notebooks.
“What kind of homework do you have tonight? You’re in third grade!”
“Oh,” he replied. “I don’t have any homework.”
I was stumped.
“Then what the heck is all this crap in your backpack?”
He smiled.
“I just like a really heavy backpack. Makes me feel like a big kid.”
Okay, then.
—–
So, Wednesday night was the night before school started in our neck of the woods.
Which, as everyone knows, is the night that you clean out the backpacks that are full of the junk from the last day of school.
As always…cleaning out Baby Monkey’s backpack was a trip.
Not down memory lane.
Just a trip.
The first thing I pulled out was his morning workbook.
If you look closely, you’ll see that he wrote “Morning work is the worst thing in the universe.”
It must have been a rebellious day.
But, then he must have regained his senses, and his guilty conscience kicked in, because he wrote, first in pencil, then again in red pen, “Ha Ha Ha That was a joke!”
Just in case the teacher was looking.
Then, I took a look in his glasses case.
I was confused as to why his glasses case was even in his backpack, because his glasses broke in December, and he hasn’t worn them since, because they’ve been on the counter.
So, I opened it.
And almost peed in my pants.
Then, it was time to open the front, zippered pocket, which was bulging and making me incredibly nervous.
What. The. Hell.
Inventory:
Two small water bottles, full of old, stale water, colored with blue pen. One of the bottles had a rainbow loom bracelet stuck to it with gum.
A big eraser inside a clear plastic box that was taped shut with blue painter’s tape. Because he never makes mistakes?
A rock. He’s a 9 year old boy. I have no issues with the rock.
Three small seashells. I’d like to point out that it is a good hour and a half to the beach from our house, and we hadn’t been there since last August.
Two screws. Something in his old classroom is clearly going to fall apart tomorrow.
Three pairs of glasses. One pair – sunglasses. One pair – fake, clear glasses. One pair – no clue.
A broken slinky. A staple of childhood. We’re good on this one.
The bottoms of three different, hand-held pencil sharpeners. The bottoms. Not the part with the sharpener in it. Not particularly useful.
A broken yo-yo. Another staple of childhood.
A Guinness Book of World Records timer. Probably timing the longest fart on the bus.
A clothespin. Because if he was timing the farts, he may have needed to close the nose.
A bat. Because, why not?
—–
After I finished cleaning it out, I asked him “So, do you think, maybe, we can keep it a little neater this year?”
He thought for a minute and then said “I’m not sure yet. I’ll have to see what fourth grade brings me.”
Okay, little man.
Fair enough.
