It’s in a safe place. Really, it is. I remember putting it there. I put it there because the last place I put it was not ideal for how rough the boys can be. When I set it there I remember thinking I probably shouldn’t put this here because it could have a bad end. But then I put it there for the convenience of the moment. And then there wasn’t a convenient moment to remember to move it to a better place.
Several times in the last 2 weeks, I’ve looked for it. I’ve asked the boys, made near-yelling announcements to no one in particular that it is missing and I’d appreciate its return, and created several we-need-to-clean-this-room adventures in the hopes that it would turn up and I could blame them.
See, that’s what this is really about. It’s about me not having to accept responsibility for losing it. More accurately, it’s about me not admitting that there was a glitch in my memory recall. I forgot where I put it, okay?! There! It’s out. I lost the darned thing. I’ll say it here in cyberspace, but never let my children know that mom doesn’t have eyes behind her head and doesn’t know everything. Don’t give them one inkling or the whole charade is over. They know that I’m fallible, but they haven’t learned that I’m not omniscient…yet.
So today, when I was looking for it again. Not on purpose, actually. I tried to turn on a light and realized that the switch (the little black knobby thing on a lamp that you turn to be illumined) had been removed. I went to the matching lamp to discover that the clandestine act had been committed there as well. We inquired of the boys: nothing. We announced how much we love them and will admire the bravery it takes to tell the truth when it may mean telling on oneself: nothing. Oh well. We turned over the sofa to look on the floor for said knobs: nothing. All we can figure is that a little person (my bet is on the toddler person) put them down the vents.
But afterwards, I thought Hey, we can turn the sofa over! And I mentioned to my husband that I would like to turn the lower level sofa over later to see if I could discover the misplaced object that I should have just put in a safe place initially. He replied something to the effect of Oh, the such-n-so? And I affirmed. And he said You mean the one that has been in our room on my side of the bed for a few weeks?
Should I feel vindicated or embarrassed? Vindicated because, alas! I did put it in a safe place after all; any sensible mother would do the same in such a situation. Embarrassed because I didn’t remember that I had put it in a safe place, let alone where the place was.
Proud. I’m going to feel proud to be a mother who made an executive decision. Mothers make hundreds (some may argue thousands, and they are probably correct) of decisions daily. Some are benign choices like celery or carrots with lunch, and others can become malignant emotional baggage in the souls of our children. Some decisions are simply out of our personal preference, whimsical fancy, or to humor ourselves because a certain choice may make one child react a certain way and since his nose curls up like that, so we do it to see the nose curl. And sometimes, it is a very deliberate decision made with great love and concern for the well-being of all involved.
These choices happen in a millisecond and we’re on to the next thing. But we are confident we made the right decision in the right moment. I have that confidence because I ask the Holy Spirit to be my helper and guide my decisions each day; to order my steps that my children will follow in those of Jesus.
With that decision-making approach I know that my heart and my children are in the same location as my missing household items are: a safe place.
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