Monthly Archives: July 2012

Where’s the……..?!

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Thanks to an invitation from memyselfandkids to do a guest post on his blog, I’m collaborating with him on an issue for the ages: Why men (and boys) can’t find anything.

It’s a ‘he said, she said’ kind of thing. Read on for the mom perspective then check out the dad perspective over at http://lifetakesover.wordpress.com/2012/07/20/the-observational-skills-of-men/

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“Honey! Where’s the [insert any food item here]?”

“In the fridge.”

“I’m looking in the fridge. I don’t see it.”

“It’s on the bottom shelf.”

“No it’s not.”

“Yes it is. It might have gotten pushed to the back. Move stuff around. You’ll see it.”

[Shuffling and banging noises come from the direction of the fridge.]

“Nope. Not in there.”

[Heavy sigh escapes lips.]

“If I open that fridge and find [insert any food item here], I won’t be too impressed.”

[Heavy footsteps toward the fridge.]

“Here it is, right in front of the leftovers.”

“Oh, thanks. I didn’t see it.”

“No kidding.”

I’ll give you one guess who was rummaging in the fridge unable to find what they were looking for and who opened the door and put their hand on said item.

You’re right. It was my husband doing the looking and me doing the finding.

And this is pretty much how it goes for anything, not just food items.

Admittedly, when it comes to something in the fridge, it makes sense that I can put my hand on anything my family asks for because I do 98% of the grocery shopping, and most of the cupboard and fridge restocking when I get home from the store. My brain is like one of those coming-soon-new-fangled fridges with an LCD display of the contents of the fridge, constantly being updated as items are removed or added.

But the same goes for toys, clothes, documents, etc. We have IKEA toy “boxes” for the kids.

Photo credit: IKEA

And no matter what the kids are playing with, they always come to me to help them find the toy they’re looking for.

As if I know which bucket they put said toy in when they cleaned up the day before (because my kids always put away their own toys. wink)

And why is it that I can find things in my house, but my family cannot? It happens so often that I set out to find an answer.

Here’s what Google told me:

“Men are hunters, so if they can’t find their prey, they instinctively freeze motionless and wait for it to wander into their field of vision. Women are gatherers, so they move things around and look behind things until they find what they’re looking for.”

Take my children for example. My male child automatically asks me to find his toys for him. He doesn’t even start to go through his toy bins. He just stands in front of them, motionless I might add, and says, “Mommy, you find my car carrier? You find my dump twuck?”

My daughter, on the other hand, pulls out every one of her toy bins and systematically launches items out of the bins and onto the floor in an effort to locate whatever it is she is looking for. Nine times out of 10 she finds it and I never hear a peep out of her. Granted there’s a mountain of toys the size of Everest in front of the bins, but hey, at least she found her toy.

And it’s not just finding things that I have the upper hand in. Remembering things related to the household also falls to me. Doctor’s appointments, stuff we need at the store, play dates, school/daycare/camp schedules, extracurricular activities and so on are all part of my job.

It’s not that my husband can’t do it. It just seems that ever since my daughter was born, I have naturally been in charge of taking care of our family. It works for us. Sometimes I get frustrated. A lot of times I’m exhausted. But ultimately, I don’t think I’d have it any other way.

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Well, that’s the female perspective. I’m sure you guys have found lots of stuff in your day, but it never seems to be when I’m around. (w­ink)

Check out the male perspective of this little issue over on http://lifetakesover.wordpress.com/2012/07/20/the-observational-skills-of-men/ where talented guest blogger and dad extraordinaire memyselfandkids is blogging today.

Stretching My Memory

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Me: I went roller skating with my friends.

Grandfather: I haven’t done that in 60 years.

Me: Then we went to the movies.

Grandfather: I haven’t done that in 20 years.

Me: Then we had a snowball fight.

Grandfather: I haven’t done that in 50 years.

As a child, I had many such conversations with my grandfather. It seemed whatever I told him, he had not done in some amount of years which were impossible to conceive for a nine year old boy. It was as if time had frozen for him about 20 years before. To be fair to him, he did spend his days taking care of my grandmother after she had a second stroke which proved debilitating. However, I could not conceive of 20 years let alone 60 years passing.

My birthday passed earlier this week. I am at the age where the celebrations are low key except when you get to a number that ends with zero. Anyway, my memory is stretching back further and further. Recently, my mother mentioned a plate that I made in kindergarten. On the plate, I traced my hands and wrote the year – 1977. That was 35 years ago, and I remember making it and seeing it in our kitchen underneath the hanging cabinet and next to the yellow flowered shape clock. I remember going on an airplane for the first time – 31 years ago. I remember my first time driving a car myself – 25 years ago. I remember moving out of my parent’s house (for the last time) – 17 years ago. I remember when my father passed away – 15 years ago. I remember when I got married – 10 years ago. Strangely enough, there are days when I can’t remember what pre-children life was like, but that’s another story.

This summer, marks the 20th anniversary of a significant event in my life. In July of 1992, I completed college, boarded a plane, and began a string of traveling summers. For a kid who had rarely left Pennsylvania, my world truly grew. I met people who were just like me and yet so different. I saw places that before seemed to exist just in books or movies. I experienced cultures which made me curious and empowered me to both question and more appreciate my own. You could say that I found myself via my travels to the Middle East, Europe, and the West Coast of America.

So, as I blow out the birthday candles on another year, I stretch my memory a little further. I appreciate the people in my life now as well as in the past. I consider my experiences and how they have shaped me. I look forward to another year and wonder what I will take from it to share when I am the grandfather.

Can We, Can We… Please!

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She’s right but that doesn’t make me appreciate her ruling. Her convincing argument is multipronged, “Who do you think is going to end up taking care of it?” “Do you want someone else to take care of?” The final blow, an uppercut, “What about the expense?” I am down and will not be getting up.

As much as I hate to admit it, my wife is probably right. She will end up taking care of it, I don’t want another full time appendage, and money is already tight with the two humans who double as our children. The discussion ends. We will not be getting a dog.

This is not an unfamiliar discussion as we have it periodically. We both agree it could be good for the children. However, we can’t get past the issues noted above, so the conversation ends – resolved, pretty much. In many ways, this is a case of déjà vu for me that goes back many years. I wanted a dog when I was a child. It was a great debate as only half of the family wanted a dog. Ultimately, however, we did not get the dog. You know why not? My mother made the same case my wife makes. She was probably right too.

So, when I raised the great dog debate again this past week, I did not have much hope that my wife would be swayed. In fact, I only brought it up half-heartedly. You see I recently read the best-selling book A Dog’s Purpose by W. Bruce Cameron. The book is told from the perspective of a dog and follows Bailey (the dog) through three reincarnations. If dogs are even half as smart, loving, and intuitive as Bailey is, I would be impressed. The concern that Bailey shows for his owner is touching. Bailey’s only purpose seems to make his owner happy – whether that means accompanying him, lifting up his spirits, or saving him from troubling circumstances. I am a dog-liker and I enjoyed the book, so if any of you are dog-lovers, I highly recommend it.

A Dog’s Purpose inspired me to bring up the dog question again. However, if I really want my wife to overturn her ruling, I should encourage her to read the book. I know she is weak; she had a dog growing up — “Habibi” and she still speaks about him with some affection. Maybe, she wouldn’t even mind taking care of it – after all, this way she can say “I told you so.” Now, I just have to get the kids on my side. Say after me boys, “can we, can we – please.”