Mom, The Mystical Diviner: The Fine Art of Looking for Stuff
I cannot count how many times a day someone says to me, “mom do you know where my ________is?” Occasionally I do know where the missing item is, but usually, it’s a big fat question mark. I have no idea. I’m lucky if I know where my purse, phone, and keys are located.
Being a mom means that you are supposed to be the mystical diviner that knows where are all missing objects have been mysteriously relocated. Have they seen the laundry basket full of unmatched socks? If I truly knew where all our missing stuff went, I would start with those stupid socks.
What is it about being a mom that makes everyone think you know where their stuff is? I can hardly remember what day it is let alone where my kids’ shoes are.
Have you ever seen the movie Galaxy Quest? (If not, stop what you are doing right now. Find it and watch it. Absolutely, one of the funniest movies ever and it has Alan Rickman in it who was amazing. You’ll never be able to watch a space movie again without quoting it.)
There is a scene in Galaxy Quest where four aliens are trying to help Jason Nesmith find his shoe. When he asks for their help they start looking at random points on the ceiling while standing in the same spot. Not effective.
That is what my children look like when I ask them to look for their things before I get involved. If I’m lucky, they may stand in the middle of their room and turn in a circle hoping that they will spot it. If they’ve done a complete circle and still haven’t seen it, apparently it’s lost forever and tears begin to flow.
They always come to me. Always. Once in a great while I really do know where their stuff is, but usually nope, not a clue. I don’t know why they don’t go to my husband. If I call him at work in a panic because I can’t find my keys, I kid you not, before he even picks up the phone I find the keys. I’ll admit that I have been tempted to call him as soon as I can’t find them because it works so well.
Some moms are truly amazing and are like a library catalog full of information about where everyone placed their stuff. What about the rest of us? You know, those of use that live in the land of organized chaos…or in my case, just chaos.
There are a few things I wish my kids realized before asking me for my help.
- I don’t know where my stuff is, let alone yours.
- You are a human sprinkler. No one can keep up with what you did with your shoes, socks, library books, toothbrush, hairbrush, favorite rock, coat, backpack, lunchbox, or homework.
- Look BEFORE you ask for my help.
- Look again.
- Nobody sneaked into your room and took it. If they did, don’t you think they would have taken your Easter candy…uh, where did that candy go?
- I am a bad looker. Some moms have what it takes to be a fine artist in the field of stuff finding. They have what it takes to keep track of your stuff, I don’t. Sorry. You got the short end of the stick on that one.
- Your room looks like someone used Legos in a fertilizer spreader and then planted socks and bits of paper on top. Sooooo, that might be why you can’t find your stuff.
- I really do sympathize. I lose my glasses on a regular basis. (Although I do have the excuse that once I take them off I am practically blind.) Even if each of you only asked me once a day to help you find something and it takes 10 minutes to find it, that would be four times a day. So 40 minutes spent finding your stuff. Take into account the time I spend finding my OWN stuff, which even if I only look for my phone twice and purse once that’s another 30 minutes. 70 minutes spent looking for stuff!
- Retrace your steps. I don’t know what you were doing when you lost it. Do you?
- Go back to your room, pick up things off the floor, and look UNDER them.
- Look again.
- If I find where it where it should be, you owe me a $1.
Let’s make a deal kids. If I find your lost stuff, you owe me $.25. If you find my lost stuff, I owe you $.25. Let’s start with the unmatched socks! Now that’s what I call a win-win situation.