Between Coffee & Curfew

I would like to formally resign from my position as Finder of All Things. I’ve held this job for years, the hours are terrible, the pay is nonexistent, and somehow I’m still the only person in this house qualified to do it.

Because nobody in my house can find anything.

It doesn’t matter what they’re looking for. Shoes, chargers, backpacks, water bottles, the remote, something they haven’t seen since 2023- eventually, someone is going to ask Mom.

And I wouldn’t mind nearly as much if they actually looked before asking me.

But we have very different definitions of looking.

“Mom, where are my shoes?”

“I don’t know. Where did you take them off?”

“I don’t know.”

“Did you look by the door?”

“Yes.”

So naturally, I walk over to the door, and there they are. Not underneath anything. Not tucked behind the furniture. Not camouflaged against the wall.

They’re shoes. Sitting by the door. Living their best shoe lives.

And somehow, I am the only person capable of seeing them.

At this point, I don’t even feel accomplished when I find something. I just stand there wondering whether I should point it out or schedule an eye exam.

The Refrigerator Is Where Vision Goes to Die

The refrigerator deserves special recognition because apparently opening it’s door temporarily removes my childrens ability to see.

“Mom, where’s the ketchup.”

“In the fridge.”

“Where?”

“On the door.”

“I don’t see it.”

Now, I know the ketchup is there. I bought the ketchup. I put the ketchup there. I saw the ketchup earlier that day. But apparently none of that matters because ketchup only becomes visible when a mother is physically standing in front of the refrigerator.

So I get up, walk into the kitchen, open the exact same refrigerator door they’ve been staring into, and point directly at it.

“Oh.”

Oh?

That’s all I get.

No wow, Mom, how did you do that? No applause. Not even a small service fee?

Apparently I’ve just performed a miracle and we’re all moving on with our day.

I’m beginning to think mothers don’t actually have better eyesight. We’ve just developed the ability to move the ranch dressing two inches to the left.

Please Tell Me More About the Thing

Then there are the requests where I’m given absolutely no useful information whatsoever.

“Mom, have you seen my thing?”

“What thing?”

“You know. The thing I had.”

I can assure you I do not know.

“The black thing.”

Well, that certainly narrows it down Let me just search my mental database of every black object that has entered this house since your birth.

Sometimes they’ll add another helpful detail like, “I had it yesterday.”

Perfect. Case solved.

And somehow I’m expected to know exactly what they’re talking about, where they last used it, and where it currently is.

The FBI should recruit mothers.

Give me a vague description, two conflicting statements, and a child insisting they already looked over there, and I’ll have the case solved before dinner.

And Somehow It’s Always My Fault

My personal favorite is when the missing item somehow becomes something I did.

“Mom, what did you do with my charger?”

Excuse me?

Your charger. The one that lives in your room, charges your phone, and has absolutely nothing to do with me?

Yes. Clearly I woke up this morning and thought, you know what would really spice up my day? Hiding someone’s charger.

Sometimes I haven’t even seen the thing they’re accusing me of relocating.

But apparently Mom is the most likely suspect anytime an object disappears.

Have you check your room?

“Yes.”

Did you actually look?

“Yes.”

I walk into the room.

There it is.

Now we’ve reached the stage of investigation where everyone becomes very quiet.

Sitting Down Activates Them

There is also a strange phenomenon in my house where nobody needs me until the exact second I sit down.

I can spend an hour walking around. I’m available. I’m approachable. I’m practically begging someone to need something while I’m already standing.

Nothing.

Then my butt touches the couch.

“Mom?”

No.

I don’t even know what you’re going to ask yet, but the answer is no.

It’s almost like they can sense it. Somewhere in the house, an alarm goes off.

Mom Has Attempted To Rest. Deploy A Child

And it’s never anything urgent.

“Can I have a snack?”

You’re standing in the kitchen.

“Yeah.”

The snacks are also in the kitchen.

“Yeah.”

I believe in you. Let’s see where this goes.

The Bathroom Door Means “Lets Talk”

You would also think a closed bathroom door would communicate, maybe Mom would like a minute.

It does not.

Apparently it means office hours are now open.

“Mom?”

Yes?

“What are you doing?”

I’m in the bathroom. There are only so many possibilities here.

“Can I ask you something?”

Of course you can, because apparently the previous eight hours when I was walking freely around the house weren’t the right time.

And it’s never a question that requires a quick yes or no. No, this is when somebody wants to have a full conversation through the door about something that happened at school, where an item might be, what we’re doing this weekend, or- my personal favorite- what we’re having for dinner.

Can we please discuss this when I’m wearing pants?

What’s for Dinner

Speaking of dinner, I’d like to know why children need this information so early in the day.

It can be 9:14 in the moring.

“Mom, what’s for dinner?”

Dinner?

I haven’t even emotionally prepared for lunch.

Sometimes they’ll ask while I’m actively cooking dinner, which feels unnecessarily disrespectful.

“What are we having?”

I don’t know. Maybe the food you’ve been watching me cook for the last twenty minutes.

Or cereal.

Keep asking questions and let’s find out together.

Mom: Finder of All the Things

I’ve accepted that this is apparently one of my roles now. I’m the finder of shoes, locator of ketchup, keeper of schedules, rememberer of appointments, charger detective, snack consultant, and unwilling participant in conversations held through bathroom doors.

And yes, I complain about it. There are days when I’d like to change my name from Mom and simply not tell anyone what the new one is.

But I also know there will come a time when nobody is yelling “MOM!” from another room because they can’t find something that’s directly in front of them. Nobody will need me to remember where they left their shoes. Nobody will interrupt me the second I sit down.

And I’m sure I’ll miss it.

Well, I’ll miss them.

Let’s not get ridiculous. I will never miss looking for somebody else’s charger.

For now, I’ll keep performing my apparently supernatural ability to locate ordinary household objects. I’ll keep answering questions I know they could probably answer themselves, and I’ll keep getting back up approximately four seconds after I sit down.

Because that’s motherhood; spending years teaching people how to function without you while they stand in front of an open refrigerator asking you where the ketchup is.

And if anyone needs me, I’ll be reheating my coffee.

Again.

Between Coffee & Curfew 🍵❤️