Finder of All The Things!

I swear, in my family, that’s a title I have: Finder of ALL THE THINGS! I’m not sure how exactly it happened, but somehow, I’m the one they turn to when they misplace something. Is it an additional role I fill, or part of the whole Wife/Mom gig?

Did I have some weird sort of Momlocation device inserted upon birth of my children? Is it in the wedding band? Does the Matrix simply like me more than them, and chooses to reveal hidden objects to my gaze?

Momdar. Implanted in labour and delivery?

Momlocation? Momdar? Implanted in labour and delivery?

I don’t know what it is, but I fear for them, if I ever, you know, run away to join the circus or something. Or go away for a weekend. I’m not saying such a thing will happen, but I worry about the possibilities.

Wolf, for example, is unable to find the truck keys. Which are on the shelf, directly in front of him, just below his nose.

Mr. Lamb, Boo’s lovey that he can’t live without, and absolutely will NOT sleep without can be declared missing…until I find it in under 60 seconds.

Every single member of my family has declared something hopelessly lost, only to have me find it moments later.

Is it their way of making me feel important? I doubt it, since it would require a level of cooperation that would be impossible for them to achieve, because it would seriously cut into their squabbling time.

I wonder, will I get phone calls from the kids, once they’re grown and moved out, that they can’t find their car keys? Or will their homes simply be accepted black holes, Canadian versions of the Bermuda Triangle and their invitations to visit will be poorly disguised, “Mom Find It!” missions?

There’s one area that my Momdar is useless in. Heaven help me if I need a pen. For all the writing supplies I’ve bought over the years, I ought to be knee-deep in them, but usually settle for a crayon if I actually need to write something down. (Which by the way, is something of a joke in itself. I used to be right-handed. Six years of this left-handed gig, and Princess still has better printing than I do.) Do my children have some strange dietary need that I’m unaware of, and unable to meet, that requires munching of writing tools? Are we infested with a pack of Borrowers?

I’ve tried to organize. It’s kind of like the blind leading the dead on that one. I’m hopelessly disorganized myself. Whatever part of the brain that holds organization, I don’t have, or it’s already filled with bits of facts about history, biology, and psychology from college that make for an impressive showing in a trivia game, but fairly useless for day-to-day life.

I’ve tried having specific drawers, jars, pencil cases, a specific box of pens that are for Mom Use Only, with warnings of dire consequences if any one else was caught with one of my pens, but nothing has worked.

At this point, I’ve pretty much resigned myself to buying a case of pens every fall when the Back To School sales are running, and hiding some in my room, so that I can eek out the stash for as long as possible. If I’m careful, it might last until Christmas.


And, in the meantime, I’ll continue to be The Finder of ALL THE THINGS. Maybe I’ll luck out and find a pen here and there.

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