I'm a very organized person. In fact, I'm downright compulsive. I can't stand clutter, dirt, and disorder. Enter my three living incarnations of entropy. This evening, I walked into my bathroom, my once-private sanctuary for bubble baths with hot tea and a good book, and saw peanut butter on the counter. And the sink. Peanut butter. Why? Because two little people with four grimy paws between them think their hands are clean from washing them, when in reality, they're clean because they've been wiped on walls, clothes, bedsheets, and the counter and sink on the way to washing them. This little discovery made me think of the things I've found (or in some cases, never found) in odd places since I've become a mother.
Trash: Judah recently went through a phase wherein he thought when he was told to throw something away, he should go fling it in the onion bin in the pantry. I suppose to his two-year-old mind, the onion skins and debris in the bin looked like trash. So I found wrappers and junk in the onion bin.
Keys: I recently lost a set of keys. I have never found them. Though the children probably had nothing to do with it, I'm blaming them anyway. Their constant roaring at me when we go somewhere has completely addled my brain, and I have lost more things since becoming a mom than I had in my previous 28 years of life.
Cell phone: The odd places my cell phone has turned up are too many to name. The most notable was the lost and found at Target. Benjy was at the hospital with Zion for a follow-up x-ray after one of his bouts with pneumonia this winter, and to save time, I took the older two and started getting groceries. Benj called when he was finished, and I paid for my groceries, got the kids loaded up and headed over to the hospital. I realized in the car that I didn't have my phone. My wallet has a zipper pocket where I keep my phone. Apparently, I left the zipper open, and dumped it on the ground. I couldn't go back to Target, as I needed to go pick up Benj and Zion (still nursing and very grouchy if not fed on time), but when I got to the hospital, I couldn't call Benj to let him know we were there. I had no idea where he was, and besides not wanting to drag an unwilling two and three year old to wander about the hospital, I was afraid if we did go in, Benj would come out and we wouldn't be there. We ended up sitting in the car for what seemed like a very long time before he got worried and came to the front door. We then went back to Target and thankfully there are still some honest people in the world, one of whom returned my phone to lost and found. Again, not really my kids' fault but I'm blaming them anyway, as I'm pretty sure it was all the hullaballoo they were making while I was trying to get them loaded into the car that caused me to miss hearing the cell phone crash into the pavement.
Debit and Credit Cards: All of my kids have a thing for wallets. They like to empty them (both literally and figuratively.) Mercy had carefully extracted all of Benjy's cards out of his wallet while he was taking a shower (who supervises these kids, anyway?) Benjy patiently retrieved his various professional licensure cards and his credit card, only to realize his debit card was missing. It didn't turn up till several weeks later, behind the filing cabinet, where Mercy had stashed it, deliberately or not. I suspect she just dropped it back there and didn't bother to look for it. Good thing I'm obsessive about cleaning and pull furniture out regularly, or it would still be back there. Recently, we were sent a new credit card to replace an expired one. It came into the house and was on top of the filing cabinet, which is where mail lives until it gets filed, paid, or burned. It has not been seen since. That card is for emergencies (see misplaced debit card, above), as we endeavor to live debt-free, so I didn't really miss it, until I cleaned the old one out of my wallet in a fit of organization and tried to replace it. For all I know, one of my little kleptos flushed it down the toilet. That would be the oddest place to find something, right? The septic tank.
Sand: I like sand. I like to play in it and walk in it. But I DO NOT LIKE IT IN MY BED.
Toys: I now find matchbox cars in my purse, wooden firetrucks in my bed, small wooden balls in the middle of the den floor (do not step on one while carrying a baby or anything else of value), books under furniture, in beds, on the floor of the car, and I could go on and on, as I'm sure most moms could. However, the oddest and most startling place I've found a toy was in my kitchen. I have a cupboard that, after you open the door, the two shelves slide out. It's very handy not to have to bend down and stick my head in a dark cupboard. I unsuspectingly flung the door open and pulled out the drawer to see the blank, white face of Mercy's naked doll staring back at me. I don't know why it startled me so much, unless it was the apalling and uncanny resemblance to a body on a slab in the morgue. Of course, I've also thrown open my laptop case to find the same doll securely strapped in. I'm not sure if I should be disturbed or concerned or what.
Food: Dried cranberries ground into my beautiful hardwood floor and smeared over my light beige ottoman in my bedroom. Why? Because I needed ten minutes, just ten minutes, to hang some clothes up, and I couldn't wait till the kids were in bed since the littlest one still sleeps in our room. I have also found food in ears, nostrils, hair...the usual places (well, usual in the under-three-foot crowd, anyway), but Judah is the only child I've known who had to have the bottoms of his feet wiped off before he can be set down from the table. I also find food stuck to Mercy and Judah's backsides when they get out of their carseats. Apparently, they can make messes with mess-proof snack cups. How they get the food underneath them while sitting in the seat is beyond me, but they do.
Sippy cups: When Mercy was a baby, we had two stainless steel sippies for her, so we always knew where they were. In the following three years, more and more companies have been manufacturing bpa, pthlalate, and lead free plastic sippies, so we have accumulated a rather extensive collection. To say I've found sippies in strange places would be less accurate than saying I've found them in annoying places. We rarely buy juice, but when Mercy was not feeling well one time, we had given her a sippy cup of juice as a special incentive for staying hydrated, while she rested in our bed. Some time later, I found that wayward sippy cup, under our bed, burbling out fermented blueberry juice on my beautiful oak floor. We have found milk in various stages of rotteness in beds, behind furniture, and in the car. Why they can't drink the last two swallows in the cup is unfathomable to me. It is now Mercy's job to gather up the sippies and put them in the sink when she straightens up her bed in the morning, and that has saved us from throwing away extra-repulsive sippies.
Puke (and other bodily emissions...Warning! not for the uninitiated): All three of my precious blessings have had the most unfortunate habit of spitting up. Everywhere. All the time. Judah had such severe reflux that we saw milk run out of his nose and tear duct. I would find puke in splats back the hall, where one of them had spit up over our shoulder and we didn't realize it (if it was Judah, we didn't hear it because our ears were ringing from his screaming). I would find it on clothes that I pulled out of the closet. Is it apalling if I admit to sniffing my clothes to see if they smelled too much like puke before putting them on to go out? And poo. Ah, let's not forget Judah and his legendary poo. Most of us probably have stories about finding poo completely up the back, down the legs, whatever. I've changed thousands of dirty diapers in the last four years, so not too many things surprise me, but I will never forget the first Sunday we took Judah to church. We pulled into the church parking lot on time, and I was congratulating myself for getting our newly minted family of four, in color coordinated outfits, no less, to church on time. The van was peaceful as our newborn slept and our 17 month old quietly watched Peter Rabbit. If I knew what I know now, that there is always payback for EVERYTHING in parenting, or more eloquently, for every action an equal and opposite reaction (dwelling rather negatively on the OPPOSITE), I would have hailed this lull as the proverbial calm before the storm. My self congratulations ended right there, as things deteriorated significantly when I got Judah out of his carseat. I smelled a foul wind, so I laid him on the driver's seat to change his diaper. When I opened his diaper and started cleaning him up, a stream of mustard-yellow poo shot out. My reaction time was pretty good and I slapped the diaper back over him. I cautiously opened the diaper again, to be greeted with a geyser. I have never seen poo shoot so far. I stood frozen in disbelief as a veritable shower of poo sprayed my dress. I leaped back, only to have him hit my shoes. I was immediately furious. How could I go to church in a poop dress? After I recovered from my shock, I had to laugh. Benj took the baby (who, miraculously had escaped ruining his own clothes) and Mercy, and I sneaked into the bathroom in the nursery. I was able to get most of the stains off my dress, but my whole skirt was soaked. I realized that I had brought along a maternity dress that one of my church friends had loaned me, with the intention of returning it to her. So I ran back to the van, as I could hear Judah shreiking with hunger. I stripped. In the van. In the church parking lot. On a Sunday morning. It's probably on the security cameras. I wasn't too concerned about modesty at that point, and it's a good thing, since to nurse Judah in the pullover dress, I had to practically pull the dress up over my head. Thus, I arrived in the service 30 minutes before it ended, in a borrowed maternity dress.
My sanity: I have definitely misplaced this one a time or two and found it in an odd spot. The most recurrent strange place I've found my sanity would have to be in a white cardboard cup with a green lady on it. Especially during the winter, when I spent many long hours cooped up inside with three restless little ones, I would bathe them and put them in warm pajamas, give them blankets and things to look at, and load them up in the late afternoon to drive the 35 minutes to Starbucks. I would just drive through the drive through and get myself a latte and Mercy and Judah chocolate milk. The baby slept, and Mercy and Judah were usually pretty content to be out of the house. I arrived home refreshed and ready to tackle the last shift before bedtime. The times I did that probably averaged out to once or twice a month, but ah...sanity! I've found you!
Any of you have stories about finding things in odd places since having children?
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