Adventures in Bad Parenting

So, I have a HUGE confession to make. I am irresponsible. I figure anyone who's reading this and isn't some random creeper but actually KNOWS me knows this, but I doubt you realize the severity of the problem.

Now, I had been pretty proud of myself over on this side of the Atlantic thus far: I haven't lost my keys, ID, passport, or EITHER of my two cell phones since I left home. Well done, Marge. *Pats self on the back* Well done.

That all ended Friday.

Now here's the thing about keys and cell phones and ID's. They're replaceable. Not easily, granted, but there's no....emotional significance to them, aside from the fact that without them, you weep because you can't get home. Anyway. Friday, I lost something a bit more problematic--Raggedy Ann.

It puzzled me at first, as I could say with certainty that she has not left my bedroom since I arrived in St Andrews and checked in. And why should she? No offense, dear, but you have no interest in my mediaeval history tutorials or going to the Whey Pat with me for a pint of cider and nachos. (Raggedy Ann has never liked Mexican food much.) So I was befuzzled. Normally, she likes hiding down in the cracks behind and around my bed, so several days earlier when I realized I didn't see her, I figured she was just up to her usual hide-and-seek antics. But upon further investigation Friday morning, she was no where to be found. Not behind, under, in, or anywhere around my bed. Not in my desk, wardrobe, or cabinet. I searched all over my room, to no avail. Then it hit me with a wave of serious concern: if I hadn't TAKEN her WILLINGLY out of my room, and if she certainly wasn't in it, then I must have accidentally removed her without my knowledge.
I had taken her to the laundry with my sheets.
OH, NO.

Well, I can tell you I spent all weekend on edge, because I wasn't going to get the chance to ask any of the maids about her until Monday, as they don't work weekends. I ate little, and slept badly, waking up at least twice with the image of her in the dumpster fresh in my mind. Monday morning finally came around, and thankfully I ran into the cleaning lady for my hall as I came out of the shower. Our awkward conversation went something like this:

"Umm, sorry, I have a question..." (Mind you, I was dripping on her newly-cleaned floor the entire time, about which I felt awful.)
"Mhmm?" She continued to mop.
"If I was, to, say, accidentally take a stuffed animal to the laundry with my sheets--" She stopped and looked up.
"A what?"
"A, err, doll?" I shuffled my feet.
"Raggedy Ann?"
"YES."
"She downstairs. I'll bring her up to you." Relief sweet and soft as chocolate swept over me.
"Oh, thank you."
And I skipped off to my room in thanksgiving.

Raggedy Ann arrived a couple of hours later, and as soon as I had thanked the lady for about the twenty-seventh time, I closed my door and collapsed onto my bed, clinging to her in relief. I spent the majority of the rest of my day in my room, and she didn't leave my side.

Lesson learned: Laundry services at school that wash your sheets for you are fantastic, but beware of sending non-bedding to get cleaned. Also, when something goes missing, stop what you're doing and look for it RIGHT AWAY. Don't put it off until it's too late.

All in all, I feel like a very awful and humbled parent. Maybe I understand why my mom freaks out about me so much, ALTHOUGH:
Mom, if you're reading this, note an important difference:
Raggedy Ann a) didn't run away. It was my fault she got lost in the first place.
b) She had no way to fend for herself, or find her own way home. I can and do try to take care of myself.