"Go back to the car and get your backpack!" I insist.
"NO!" he answers, "YOU get it."
I say "seriously?" Because, I mean... seriously? Do you enjoy your freedom, child? Because I have a roll of duct tape and I'm not afraid to use it. "Seriously," he says. "You have my backpack."
Yeah, I was holding it; it was in my hands. I had carried it into the house, all on my own, and I didn't even realize it.
I'm sure there's a picture or something I could put here as a symbol of my parental greatness, but I don't feel like looking for one.