My son, A., spent half an hour early this morning searching for his wallet. Finally I gave him money for a new bus ticket. After lunch I asked my 4-year-old whether she knew where his wallet was.
“Yes!” she answered. “But it’s in a place where I can’t reach it.” She skips into my bedroom and points to my nightstand. I pull it out, but there is only a dust-bunny underneath.
“Is this where it is?”
“No, it’s in-between and I can’t get it.”
Sure enough, the wallet and a paperback (Ami McKay’s The Birth House) are lodged between the bed and the nightstand.
Both she and my older daughter are really, really good at remembering where they last saw things. They must have some kind of gene for visual memory. Unfortunately they did not get it from me.
Related: My Daughter is a Bloodhound