Monday, October 10, 2011

Something is missing again. Could it be Mrs. Potts., in the Study, with the..??

It's truly frightening when anything goes missing in my house.  There are just so many possibilities to what could have happened.

If it's a battery or something of electrical significance, of course we turn our thoughts immediately to our youngest son, Austynn.  However, these days it's not so simple anymore.  His older brother, William, loves to get him into trouble so it's usually a matter of intense investigation.  The schemes are getting more and more complicated.  Eric and I are very concerned that the house will burn down around us while we're in the midst of our next criminal inquiry.

Dad's tools.  Mom is never a suspect here.  I don't even know where they're located and could care less.  The toilet bowl could "runneth over" and my theory is, "turn off the water and close the door until Dad gets home".  (Yes, it's true.  I play the role of the hapless female and play it quite well).  There are always three suspects here:  William, Austynn, and DAD

Darren McGavin
From the Movie, A Christmas Story
Eric will approach his extremely organized and well stocked tool chest with an air of collected self-confidence until he sees a missing tool and then...WHOA NELLIE!  I can hear him screaming from my bedroom upstairs.  Cursing, slamming, sputtering - he rivals the Father figure in the holiday movie, A Christmas Story.  A moment later he'll rip open the door yelling for the boys to come down to the garage.  Usually, one of the kiddos are guilty and it will take a few moments to admit they have the contraband in their bedroom or someplace else in the garage.  If this is the case, a mandatory lecture is given and eventually they're off as if nothing has happened.  Every once in a while they'll point out to Dad where he placed it in error.  Oops!  The boys have learned never to laugh at Dad's expense or they'll still get a lecture.  Just walk away, boys.  Just walk away...

Misplaced keys and/or sunglasses.  This is another one of my awful inherited traits.  I watched my Mom for years suffer through this anxiety every morning before school or as she was running late to get someplace; however, I don't lose my things.  Again, they get misplaced.  There is no possible way I can lose my car keys.  They're a ridiculously huge set. I blame whatever this mishap is on my children.  If they would just stop talking I could remember what I was doing from one moment to the next.  I also blame this on my extraordinarily large purse.  Why, you ask, don't I just buy a smaller purse?  Because then who would carry the hand sanitizer, Austynn's Band-Aids, my Valium, ChapStick, and 30 assorted maxed out credit cards?

Food.  Now this could be anyone's deal.  We're all gluttons for snacks in the Potts' household; however, Eric and I don't tend to snack unless the boys have pushed us to the brink of insanity and then we don't hide it.  We just pull out the potato chips, bags of chocolate morsels, and cans of cake frosting and weep deeply into the empty containers.  High maintenance children will keep up eternally fluffy.  Austynn is usually not the culprit because he doesn't know how to be a "secret snacker".

"Austynn, were you eating Cheetos before dinner?"

"No, Mom"

"Really?  Then can you explain the Cheetos finger smear on your homework and on the pantry door?"

Not only does William sneak food, but he takes odd things that I wouldn't notice right away.  "Where's the pound of cheddar cheese I was going to use for enchiladas tonight?"  Dammit!

And finally, there are the small, obscure things which go missing like hair bands, jewelry, and earplugs.  Usually I can just chalk this stuff up to the House Troll and assume they'll turn up in their own good time.  Yes, very true - in their own good time.  Yesterday, Eric was picking up some dog poop and noticed that one of my purple ear plugs had been unfortunately taste tested.  I'm also missing one of my favorite earrings.  This too may turn up in its own good time; however, if it does, I don't believe I'll ever want it back.           

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