That shirt

So this past weekend, Madolyn and I were out of town for a three-day volleyball tournament in Indianapolis, Jay was working daylights and Lane was at one house and then another.  When I left on Friday morning about 5:00 a.m. I was not thinking about what Lane might pack to either sleepover.  He's at the age where I don't worry about it anymore - he usually remembers to take more than underwear.

Sunday afternoon I arrived home. Jay was at work, Madolyn was dropped off at the high school for musical practice, and Lane was waiting for me.  He was a chatterbox, which I love.  He gets that way every now and then, and I try to soak it up.  If you know this guy, he's very quiet and backwards for the most part...especially if you're not a close friend or family member.

I noticed that although Lane had on 'good' jeans (meaning no holes and they still fit, sort of - he's growing so fast), he was wearing one of his two favorite hoodie sweatshirts.  I was pleased that he wore 'good' jeans to a visiting church.  I didn't think one second about what was on underneath the hoodie because he almost never takes it off.

Later, as the chattering continued, and while I was in the kitchen cooking, Lane hollered "Hey, mom.  Did you happen to see what shirt I was wearing today?"

"No, I sure didn't, you've got your sweatshirt on."

He pulls the tail end of the shirt out from underneath his hoodie and says, "Look, it's that shirt I wore to Grandma Great's funeral.

"Oh yeah, " I said, acting as though I remembered...I didn't doubt him - it was solid red.

"As soon as I felt the material, I remembered I had worn it that day."

**Gulp**

My almost-twelve-year-old son remembers what he wore to Grandma Great's funeral almost two-and-a-half years later.

Just when I think he doesn't notice the small stuff...