Oh! Much frustration and gnashing of teeth! Once again I have reached for an item of mine and found that my hand has closed on…NOTHING! This time it was a nifty little mister that I use to encourage my hair to curl– it is the most labor-intensive action I am willing to make related to my hair, so I don’t use it often, but still…! I can not fathom why everything that I own is so downright fascinating to my children that they must pick it up and then squirrel it away in some forlorn corner of the house. Ha! If it IS still in the house… I saw my youngest walking toward our front door with my garlic press one day. When I asked him where, exactly, he was going with it he blinked hard like Sleeping Beauty coming out of her nap, and then gave a confused glance at the object in his hand before answering, “Um, outside?” (deep sigh, sound of me banging my head on the wall…)

Seriously. Kids! Leave. My. Stuff. Alone.

Oh, if only they would. The conversation itself is futile. I say, ” Do NOT drink mommy’s diet green tea ginger ale.” and they hear, “Blah, blah, blah THERE’S POP IN THE HOUSE!” I say, “No one plays with my ukulele!” but then I come home and all the strings are suspiciously off-key. I don’t touch their stuff– except for the the constant picking up of it all– and not just because it’s all gross and covered in questionable, sticky substances. I don’t touch their stuff because– and try to follow this, little ones– it’s ALL MY STUFF.

That’s right. I picked it out, I bought it, you only THINK it’s your stuff. Until you get a job it’s all my stuff and I am seriously, psycho-mommy close to taking it all back.

I don’t ask for much. I just want a few things that are mine. I let people live IN MY BODY, for cryin’ out loud, so I’m not being ungenerous, here. If I want to have a few pieces of expensive, lovely dark chocolate, I deserve to be able to enjoy them, without finding that someone has stolen them from my dresser and eaten them with cheetos. Also, KEEP OUT OF MY CHEETOS!

Okay. Deep breath. I’m sure that we can work this out peaceably. More than likely, my children, you are not attempting to drive me insane, but merely confused as to the boundries between you and I and by extension, our stuff. Allow me to help you with that:
1) Do you know what that item is? I’m 100% sure that our little man had no clue what a garlic press was as he headed out the door. A good rule of thumb is, if the name and purpose of the item escapes you, leave it be.
2) Do you know where it goes? If you don’t, for the love of God, do not shove it in a drawer, a box or a shoe…. since you don’t know what it is, you sure as heck aren’t going to remember where you put it. Leave it be.
3) Where did you find it? Is it in your toy box? Your cubbie? Or is it in my room? If it is stop and ask yourself, “What the heck am I doing in Mom’s room?!!” Get out of there and leave it be!

Please. I am begging you. I only have so much time and money. I can not be constantly chasing down items or purchasing replacements. Let’s just agree to let mommy’s stuff alone and to celebrate I will share some lovely dark chocola…

Oh, for the love of pete.

The Rise & Fall of a Momocracy

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