The Mystery of the Missing Lens

It froze last night for the first time.  At the time of the mad rush for the bus, it was 24.5-degrees outside.  I told the kids they needed to wear their winter coats (my first mistake).  They refused to wear them.  (After I spent almost an entire day last week cleaning out the coat closet, washing coats, hats, mittens, getting rid of what didn't fit, organizing everything on hangars and sorting things into bins.)  At least I got them into heavier jackets and suitable footwear and on the bus (though my son did not have matching gloves, and I believe they were both right-hand gloves to boot).  

When I walked back into the house, I noticed something on the steps in the entryway.  It was an eyeglass lens.  I wondered how my son didn't notice something like this, but I never questioned that it was his.  It was all scratched up and dirty - had to be his.  I quickly called his teacher and reached a substitute that will be in the classroom all day.  I explained the situation and told her I would run the lens down to school, and I may need to take his glasses and get them fixed today.  

I drove to school, signed in, explained in detail why I was there, and walked down to the classroom, lens in hand.  I met the substitute who gave me a funny smile and explained that Joe's glasses were intact.  I looked at the lens, made sure that my son's glasses were indeed fine, and made a joke about things being a bit lax at our house.  The substitute gave me an uncomfortable smile and a twittering laugh that seemed to scream "Give a wide berth to the crazy lady!"  I smiled at her and left.  

I cannot figure out where this eyeglass lens came from.  

Evidently my life isn't bizarre enough already . . .