I arrived to pick up Lilah exactly on time yesterday. Usually, I’m at least ten minutes early for all pickups because the power company could be trimming trees or there could be a funeral coming out of a church or I could get a flat tire or a plague of locusts could descend upon us and then I might be late and I must never, ever be late to pick up my children because then they will feel lost, alone, and abandoned. Those of you who’ve wondered whether my childhood had any lasting effect, well, there’s your answer.
The nice thing about arriving on time, however, was that she was already in her boots and coat and so I was spared the painfully slow process that is Lilah doing pretty much anything, although I was slowed down because the teacher wanted to talk to me.
“She was scratching her head today,” the teacher mentioned as Lilah bounced out of the coatroom to swing on my hand.
“Did you check her?”
“Yes, there was nothing there, but you should keep an eye on it.”
“Well, it could just be dandruff.”
Lilah, ever the logical one, agreed. “Yeah, my cat has dandruff. I probably caught it from him.”