Remotely possible

The other day, I felt so stinking clever. I'd hid the remotes to the tv and locked both sets out such that no one could turn on the televisions without my help. I'd even placed the controllers in a spot no one would look; my laundry basket of socks.

I'm not completely heartless. I gave a hint. I asked the children to mate some socks for the next day. Mind you, I have six children capable of managing this task and all I asked is for them to sort one pair for themselves only. If even ONE child had complied, they would have found the object of their collective hearts desire.

So homework and music and dinner and reading and bath time passed without the tv for competition. I didn't miss it but I did relent when everything was done for the olders and allow some to watch "Avatar" and "Phineas and Ferb." That night, I crashed a bit early for me (10:30) and this morning, the remote I had surrendered to the olders was no where to be found. Since the tv hadn't been on, I didn't notice it missing until the toddlers cranked up Sprout TV and I went to lock them out. The olders had already gone to school.

I started looking. It was not on the main floor. It was not in the basement. I had no means of locking out the cartoon channel because I couldn't find the remote. I smelled a rat. So I started looking in the places they'd stash such a treasure, under the couch, in a toybox, under a pillow in their bed. I searched and searched and searched.

But these children are mine, and so they think like me. When my kids got home, I asked where it was and my crafty daughter giggled. They put the remote in a place I'd never think to look if putting myself in their place.

She pointed to my laundry basket of unmated socks.