Friday, May 16, 2008
Last night, during my bi-weekly gno (girls night out) (see, you think I don't take care of myself. It is Brian who needs more nights out), my good friend, S, got a phone call. We all dread the cell phone calls for fear of a night cut short due to a sick or unruly child or a babysitter issue. This was her husband. He called her to ask her where the remote was. I. Kid. You. Not.
Who else can relate?
I am beginning to think one of my sole purposes in life is to either inform my fellow home dwellers, who all happen to be male, where everything precious to them is located or to assist in finding said precious things. In my cleaning of the garage a few weeks ago, I discovered two hats, three missing gloves and a jacket layered between toys in the garage. With the very cold and snowy winter that graced us this past year, I will admit I didn't shuffle through the garage looking for lost and found type items very often. I bought new. Or I made the boys wear cloth mittens or *gasp* their HOODS when they were outside playing when we couldn't locate their bundling accessories. I also found the heads to action figures (although now I can't find the bodies), the marbles to random games, and the guns to Star Wars figures, which happen to be the size of my pinky toe nail (did I mention I have size 5-1/2 feet?) and tend to be the same color as my carpet (the guns, not my feet). I am not denying that sometimes the last I see of these type of objects is just before they are suctioned into my trusted Kenmore vacuum. Due to my slow reflexes. And sometimes not.
This is typical of every day of my life. I find their stuffies (stuffed animals), their socks, their shoes, their toys, their baseball gloves, their lightsabers, their games, their pencils, their homework, their books, their Nintendos, etc. All discarded between couch cushions, car seats, in their closets and under tables/beds for the first more enticing activity that beckons them.
And despite finding all of these things, I often ponder whether or not to return them. How long before they ask for them? Do they even know they are missing? They must not care about them.
Then I come across my own pitfalls. As I was cleaning out the console in the van a few weeks ago, I came across my long lost Poi Dog Pondering CD. I stopped looking for it about 2 years ago. I stopped asking and talking about it not because I wasn't fond of it, quite the contrary, but because, well, I was responsible for its placement and I simply couldn't find it. So, I guess I can't judge. Oh and did I tell you about that one time I couldn't find my passport and we were leaving for Europe in EIGHT DAYS? Guess who found it? Brian. Yes, the same man who can't find his jacket hanging in the closet some days. The same man who can't find the butter in the fridge that I just told him was on the second shelf behind the
So, I guess it all evens out. We are a family. We help each other. We find each other's things. We
leave our messes for metidy each other's messes.
For now, I should be thankful they need me in that respect. It won't be long when they won't.