“Maawm! I’m hungry!”
“So eat some breakfast,” I growled at my son from my bed.
“What do we have?” he shouted back.
“Cereal.”
“I can’t find any. Where is it?”
“Where it’s been for the last 13 years of your life. Did you even look?”
“Yeessssssssssss!”
I peeled the dog off my neck, propped up on my elbows and howled, “For the love of… it’s in the stinking pantry!”
My husband popped his head in through the bathroom doorway, “Is it safe to come out?”
“Safe as it’ll get.”
“Good, because I need you to help me find my over-the-knee navy blue socks.”
“Have you looked for them?”
“No. Hey, honey, take that pillow off your face.”
Slowly, deliberately, through clenched jaws, I answered, “They’re in your sock drawer, front right corner neatly folded on top of the below-the-knee navy blue pair.”
“Mawm! I looked in the pantry and still can’t find it.”
I removed the dog who had secured herself on top of the pillow on top of my face, snatched my robe and stomped into the kitchen, mumbling something about the only day to sleep past six, sedatives and certain genetic makeups. I reached into the pantry, grabbed the 46 oz. bag of Sugar Bomb cereal puffs and shoved them towards my precious first born child.
“Mom, I swear I looked in there!” he balked.
“Yeah, well you obviously looked like a guy. Son, you must —l hey, look at me, this is important — you must learn to actually TOUCH and mooove things when looking. Did you expect the Sugar Bomb Puffs to wiggle their way out from behind the mac and cheese when they heard you shouting?”
“But, I —”
“No buts. Eat your breakfast or you’ll be late for your lesson. Did you put your clubs in the car?”
“Uh huh, slurp, exshept I can’t thfind my glub.”
You can’t find your golf glove? Where did you put it after you played with dad yesterday?”
“I dunno.”
“Did you look for it?”
“Yessssssssssssssss!”
The man with the same chromosomal make-up and freshly laundered socks entered the kitchen.
“Honey, if you go to the grocery store today, would you pick up some more grape jam?”
“We have three jars.”
“No we don’t. I looked.”
“Refrigerator. Second shelf down, back left corner, behind the sweet relish. There are two extra jars in the pantry — third shelf up from the floor on the Lazy Susan labeled ‘jars’ behind the mayo and in front of the ketchup. Hon-neeey, you must actually TOUCH and mooove things when looking.”
“I thought I did!” he balked.
“Well, think again mister,” I hissed.
“What’d you say?”
“I said, think about what you’d like for dinner, Dear.”
Karen Rinehart is a syndicated newspaper columnist, public speaker, and creator of The Bus Stop Mommies™. Her book, Invisible Underwear, Bus Stop Mommies and Other Things True To Life, is a popular read in book clubs, school pick up lines, and soccer fields. She enjoys hearing from readers across the States and as far away as Australia, Japan, and England. Karen lives in North Carolina with her two kids, two dogs, and one husband, where they attend St. James Catholic Church. (Well, they leave the dogs at home.) When not locating items in plain sight, Karen can be reached at www.BusStopMommies.com.
