Stealthy Things Theory

Every woman knows it.  Her purse is a ninja.  It can hide in plain sight.  My pocketbook of choice is large. It is modeled after the Texas flag and has sparkles on it.  When a decidedly Not-Texan friend saw it for the first time, all she could say was "wow." Yeah. There was snark in there. 

It is big. It is loud. It is fun.  I think it is cool.  It is slightly insane.  In short, my purse looks like my personality the way dogs look like their owner.  Except for one thing.  My purse can hide from me.  I have never yet successfully hid from my children or my purse. 

Even the kids have noticed, the thing can be sitting on a mantle, draped on a chair and we can spend a good 20 minutes before someone trips over it.  Thus we came to the understanding that everyone has a secret ninja in their lives. For several of my children, it is their shoes, for others, their backpack when it is homework time, and for still others, their lunch box.  The question is not what is the ninja object in one's life but why is there a ninja object in one's life?

There are several controversial competing theories on the matter of obvious yet invisible objects.

1) We are failable forgetful disorganized beings: This has been loudly decried by the establishment as judgemental, harsh and unreasonable and thus dismissed as a kookie premise that only the despairing or lazy thinker embraces.  I agree.

2) Government Conspiracy Theorem:  All objects have microchips in them that allow the feds to test teleporation technology in discreet and multiple locations so as to perfect it before letting the public know about such things.   Sometimes the process doesn't work entirely, explaining the single sock/shoe/lost car keys that are never located.  Such a theory has much in the way of promising explanations of reality if true, it would resolve those perpetual seemingly eternal losses like the wallet that is always empty, the completely devoid of cookies "Cookie jar" and the empty ice cream tub in the freezer. 

3) The Toy Story Premise:  You know how toys are alive when we're not looking?  Well so are the things.  Attention things!  I will not abuse you if I gain knowledge of your being sentient.  Further, I would welcome your help.  Please please please, pull a Beauty and the Beast number on my home and put yourself away properly.  

4) Object Permanence Isn't: We know as infants that things don't stick around, but we're conditioned by all that came before to think otherwise.   It's possible.  After all, all things are finite, but that might seem like too hard a truth to bear, and so begins the socialization of a whole people to think that objects should endure beyond time.  

5) It Takes a Village to Create Real Paranoia: My kids can see the purse, they've just colluded to not notice in the desperate hopes of not having to run one more errand.  (This one seems entirely reasonable to me, except I'd have to be in on the scheme because there are times they want to go and I don't and I still can't find it). 

These are just a few of the possible explanations for the cloaking devise that ordinary house hold things sometimes use to avoid detection.  Feel free to add your own in the com box.  In the meantime, I've decided to put my phone in my purse so I can call it and locate it....except that's missing too and I'm pretty sure I turned it off....may have to reevaluate my staunch denial of theory #1.  

Einie, Mienie, Miney, ...where's Moe...

Einie...

Because we take two cars, head counts are always dicey things. Today I discovered my second son had lagged on getting dressed. I was just about to head out when he showed up dressed for mass, and thus I did a quick text message to make sure I wasn't leaving behind any non sentient beings when we headed out the door. Then I made a run through of the house to double check.

I am haunted by the story of my uncle being left at mass to walk home because his parents took two cars.

Mienie...

Yesterday, my kids helped unpack the car and it was raining. So I made several soggy trips and begged the children to get their things. Putting the baby in the high chair and beginning the process of serving snack, reminding people to put away their things and preparing for homework, I did a head count...where was cupie doll?...

I look outside. Cupie doll is busy splashing puddles. She has taken off her shoes and is wallowing in the glorious rain and mud. The doors to the car on every side are open, allowing the car to experience the same joy as she.

Miney...

My children are the masters of hide and seek on Sunday when I demand my weekly child tribute in the form of one hour of cleaning. Putting on "Enchanted's "Happy Working Song," does help though, as do props.

One daughter will happily scrub all the bathrooms if offered a pair of plastic yellow gloves. My second son willingly weilds the swifter mop. The oldest can be told to vacumn a floor and does it. What happens though, is after I've given out specific tasks,some of the kids view these as the maximum amount necessary to return to DSland or Civ IV or Pokemon or whathaveyou...no...I want my sixty minutes.

I have explained why I need this time before...with exponents and time management, with bribes of bonus allowances for the best worker, and even treats of ice cream on Sunday...and with threats of making it 2 hours if I fail to get my one...still, I was unprepared for the lengths to which one of my children went to ensure she could avoid work.

She is the quiet one. The one who in games of hide and seek can throw a cloak over herself and not be seen. She created a cave. A cave in the back basement. A cave complete with a bean bag pillow, a night light, her DS gameboy, easter chocolate and her. I admit, after combing the house three times, I failed to check behind the stairs of the back basement, though I did search the back for stragglers over at the comics stash...she must have held her breath when I returned a second and third time.

After twenty minutes of increasingly serious searching failed to find her, I felt a slight panic.., I began calling. I summoned the children and they began calling and searching, checking closets and beds and bathrooms I had checked before.

Moe

But a two year old can find anything she wishes. Cupie doll loves playing with her older quiet sister's gameboy, so she naturally went to the back basement, pulled back the covers that made the cave such a lovely hiding place and muscled in a spot on the beanbag with her sister and started poaching the foil wrapped chocolate eggs. I might add, she doesn't bother with such pesky details as unwrapping chocolate. That's a waste of time one could spend chewing chocolately goodness.

After dinner that night, I even peeled a few chocolate kisses as a reward.

Some may have noticed I've used a few older pieces and the tone has been less light as of late. There is a reason.

We are execting our ninth child, a son. This news, while joyful, has been a bit overwhelming to all of us. We also know that he will have Downs Syndrome, but what that will mean remains to be seen. The process of testing and waiting for results has cut into my energy to write and craft and maintain this blog, as has preparing for the Erma Bombeck conference this weekend. I will try to return to my normal chipper sunnier self and if you see that the chocolate for your brain is running more dark than milk, drop me a line, it helps for feedback.

I AM A GPS...

Now a days, every rental car has one of these Tom Toms or Guardians that is designed to eliminate the age eternal battle that goes on between the driver and the designated draftee navigator. With one of these babies on board, you can Tom Tom Cruise to your destination, and no wacky side trips to Oprah's couch are necessary.

Thanks to GPS's, these conversations are a thing of the past.

"Where are we going?"
"To your brother's house."

"Where do I turn?"
"You go North."

"No. Where do I turn."
"You don't turn for another forty minutes. Just go north."

"Where do I TURN?"
Sigh. "You turn right."

"Which exit?"

Getting out the map, the subbordinate counts the exits. "I think it's sixteen."

"You THINK? or you KNOW?" Takes map, in two seconds, "It's here." Points at map, is dead on, "Number 18. I thought so."


"If you knew..."

The conversation reads more like a defendant's interrogation in a bad law show than a dialogue between two people who would willingly consent to be in the same vehicle.


GPS's have helped lower the collective blood pressure of couples everywhere. Bliss is just a button push away. The disembodied voice supplies the information, no one gets mad and the machine never says, "I told you to turn left at the Exxon station exit but you..." A whole venue for passive aggression has been nearly universally eliminated from the emotional landscape of America. Dr. Phil has taken to trolling area hospitals for Brittany Spears melt downs, as the number of couples in marital trouble have dropped procipitously.

People listen to GPS's. The GPS's tell them where to go. The GPS's tell them what to do. The people do what the GPS says.


...I want to be a GPS.

Then I realized, for my family. I am the GPS or rather, the MPS. (Maternal Property Seeker).

Currently, I am the chief finder of all objects big and small, important and profound, paper and plastic. Mom is the great refuge for those unwilling to search or unable to find their important papers, toys, uniform pieces and necessary accessories.

Tom Tom, meet Mom Mom.

"Mom! Mom! I can't find my knitting!" Daughter is learning to sew in art class, currently making a hat or maybe a yellow tribble, she hasn't made up her mind.

"You left it in the TV room on the bookshelf near the top. Your library books on Copernicus were under it."

"Oh yeah."


"Mom! Mom! I can't find my silver shoes and I wanted to wear them to Christine's Princess Party this afternoon."

"I think I saw your younger sister wearing one of them in the study, so check under the blankets she left there as a tent, and the other one is in the far right pocket of the pool table, under the eight ball."

"Mom! Mom! I can't find my cell phone! I tried calling it but I put it on vibrate for Church this morning and..."

"Your phone is in our bathroom charging. You left it in my car when you brought in the doughnuts."


Mom-Mom can beat Tom-Tom most days. Most clients are satisfied with the speed and accuracy of information an MPS can provide. Testimonials include locating the Cub Scout manual and hat, the remaining box of diaper wipes, a set of car keys, two basketball uniforms, the science review sheet, socks, six shoes, a hair brush, nail clippers and a wallet all in one day.

Further investigation proves that MPS has only had one customer complaint.

Mom-Mom was completely ineffective when Sherry lost her purse.