Wednesday, August 14, 2013

Strange Things in Strange Places

With two small, curious children in the house, I am often finding strange things in strange places. I’m not sure what it is that makes children want to hide objects in odd places –maybe they’re like squirrels, and they’re just stashing them for later. But in the past few weeks, here are some of the items that have appeared in strange places in my house:

  •         A popsicle stick (well, pieces of a popsicle stick) in the garbage disposal
  •         A Barbie doll in the trash can
  •         My camera in the laundry basket
  •         My Kindle Fire under the couch
  •         A sock on the bookshelf
  •         A Barbie shoe under the couch cushions
  •         A half-drunk juice box on the outside edge of the stairs
  •         Several rocks in the toy box
  •         A pair of underpants (not mine, thankfully) wedged behind the bunk bed
  •         An earring in my shoe
  •         Construction paper in the bathtub
  •         A toy truck on my pillow
  •         A single sneaker in the sandbox
  •         A DVD in the sink
  •         Pennies in the car DVD player (ouch)
  •         The TV remote in the…well, I haven’t actually found it yet, but I’m sure it will reappear eventually, possibly on (or in) the refrigerator, behind the easy chair, under the piano, etc.
The upside to this phenomenon is that I have gotten very good and hunting for – and finding – lost objects. I have learned to think creatively and not to make assumptions. Anywhere a child can reach (and often places I’m quite sure they can’t) is fair game as a hiding place. Inside, under, behind, atop…if it’s a preposition, it’s a possibility.

So when I discovered yesterday that my Kindle Fire was nowhere to be found, I took it not as a frustration but as a challenge. It’s not in the most obvious places like on my bedside table or on the bookshelf. It’s not in the more common hiding places like under the couch or in the toy box or under the bed. It’s not in some of the more obscure places like in the office closet or under one of the sinks. I’ve looked in every drawer, under every rug, and behind every movable object I can think of.

 I’m sure it’s around here somewhere. So I’ll just keep looking, high and low. If past history is any indicator, even if I don’t find it, one of these days one of my kids will wander by nonchalantly with it in their hands just as if it had never gone missing. I may never find out where it had been for those few days. Because why would my kids reveal their hiding places? They’re just testing them out for their teenage years. Which means I’ve got another decade to suss them out myself.

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