How I Come to Rely on Your Wisdom

In that sweet aching young time
when you and your brother
seem always attached to me,
I hurry you out the back door
into a cold red car 
and a sharp gray day.
 
Baby first, buckle secure.
Next your toddler-self, snug in your seat.
Wind stinging my face,
I turn to climb behind the wheel,
make a mental list:
keys, purse, diaper bag,
bottle, sippy cup, pacifiers, snack. 
What am I forgetting? 
I ask silently.
 
I get no answer, so, car in reverse,
right arm thrown back to look 
over my shoulder and out the rear, 
I again question myself,
aloud this time:
“Now, where are we going?”
 
A small surprise
backseat voice
all thoughtfulness and sincerity
stills me,
responds with the obvious
only answer to my silly question:
“Backwards.”