I suppose I shouldn't have been surprised to find my tweezers in the microscope kit. I mean, it's perfectly natural that such a versatile instrument should be allowed to do more than just groom mother's eyebrows. Did you know that tweezers, according to Aidan, are perfectly designed to dismember insects? I'll never pluck in peace again.
My tweezers are not the only household objects that have traveled beyond their place of origin. I've started to notice other misplaced items, such as a dolly wedged in the cupboard on the blender stand or a strawberry stem wilting in the knife drawer. You know, normal stuff. It's starting to become rather comical.
For the longest time, I couldn't find my tape measure. We eventually found it in a suitcase. Not somewhere I'd think to look. On another occasion, I was searching for the salt. One would think it should reside conveniently alongside the other baking items in the cupboard. But if one is thinking this, then one is not considering that little boys sometimes like to kill slugs. If one happens to remember this, then one will run out into one's back yard to retrieve the salt. Because it makes a lot more sense to run outside to grab an ingredient than it does to simply open the cupboard right above the mixer. How else would we get our exercise?
Try as I might to remind the children that food must remain at the table, some people, whose initials are something like L.M.A.K., like to wander. This is evident when I find little surprise scraps, such as a half-eaten cheese stick on the piano or a baggie of green beans in the toy basket, both of which occurred last week. Bless her heart.
Tongs have also been known to exit the kitchen with alarming regularity. The barbeque tongs were confiscated from the doll cradle, while the salad tongs were hanging out in the boys' closet. Did you know that a bin of crayons and a pair of tongs are just what is needed when one wants to serve "spaghetti" to one's dolls?
Yes, it's humorous. But it can be frustrating at times. Consider the mother who is frantically pulling together dinner. She reaches for the garlic press. Nothing. She opens the drawer a bit more. Surely it must be here . . . . And then she remembers the play dough adventures from that morning. She finally retrieves the garlic press. But something is amiss. The holes are neatly plugged with the crusty remnants of pink dough. Mother grabs a toothpick and begins to make miniscule stabbing motions. With love in her heart. Dinner will be a bit late. And hopefully it won't taste too salty. But maybe that wouldn't be so bad, after all. It will save her a trip to the back yard.