I’m having an Easter Egg Hunt in the middle of October

The husband and I, we’re major scatterbrains. I attribute it to the fact that I was born three months premature and the doctor said I was probably going to be retarded. So it’s like a miracle that I managed to survive all these years without eating my own hair and I guess I can live with losing stuff now and then. The husband, he’s got no excuse because his brain is broken so I don’t really blame him for it either.

In the years that we’ve been together, we’ve lost phones, wallets, wedding rings, keys and countless other stuff. We’ve been locked out of our own house and car enough times that it has stopped being funny. It says a lot that I consider it a personal achievement that I haven’t lost my babies…yet.

Now that Tru is a little bigger, he’s not helping the cause because he has taken to hiding our stuff around the house like some great Easter Egg hunt. Not like we don’t have enough trouble finding them as it is. Usually, we just leave everything on the dining table and even though it’s a mess, it’s an organized mess because I know exactly where everything is (after some scrambling). But you see, that was before Tru started hiding our stuff.

And he doesn’t just leave them sprawling on the floor in plain sight. It’s all strategically hidden in places I would never have thought to look. It was funny at first like “what’s this potato doing in my underwear drawer?” but after a while, it’s not fun having to search for the house keys when guests have been standing outside twiddling their thumbs for 15 minutes.

I’ve narrowed down his favorite hiding places and the list is getting longer by the day.

1. In the tissuebox

2. In the trash bin

3. In his shoe

4. Under his bed

5. Under my bed

6. In various drawers around the house

7. In his car boot (One day, I’m going to destroy that car)

I’m trying to teach him to locate stuff instead of hiding them, but when I ask him where’s my credit card or iPhone, he grins and says “no”. (Whaddya mean no, young man?) Then he’ll toddle behind me and peer knowingly as I start panicking and scrambling to turn the house upside down.

I’m being mocked by a baby.