Lost, Found and Spit

Okay, WTF?

I started packing up the box to send to A, overseas - only to find that I cannot lay my hands on all the stuff I bought at CVS. Which includes a book for myself. Chapstick for Fox. A box of tampons. In the pink box. I'd buy way more tampons if they came like pink wash cloths do, wrapped with ribbon and tied with a bow. Also included the Tums I bought for J. Ultra 1000 strength, berry flavored, as the banana ones in the mixed fruit pack make me gag. Not that I'm the one who eats them by the carton. That'd be J.

Poor guy, big time indigestion. Could be that he'll eat anything. An.y.thing. He loves food the same way I do Lilly, and -

Right.

Stay on track here.

I've looked everywhere. Under the sinks. Found the last Biore' strip I was looking for yesterday for a little At Home Facial, (but had to skip, couldn't find it at the time). Also located the extra toothbrushes Fox swore to me we didn't have. A hair clippy too big for me; I don't have enough hair. I have to buy the babier clippys. Moved on.

Peeked in my closet, moving aside all socks to be laundered - turned right side out, if you're curious, divided into white with no patterns, white with patterns, and black, with or without patterns; all the Easter Bunny things, (though I had a coronary, because J said I put the bunnies he got into the closet with the rest of the things for Easter that I need to apparently return, as they're not cool enough, and the bunnies are not there either) but no CVS bag to be found.

Now I'm worried not only about CVS bag, but fucking chocolate bunnies besides.

I'm thrilled my head is attached, as is my ass - I could leave either one of them places and not even know it. Honestly. I'm so annoyed I could just spit.

Only I don't spit. It's gross. Just thinking about it makes my skin crawl. Ewww.

Looked under the chair dresses in my room, found only bunnies there, but of the dust variety, and a salmon flavored dog chew.

Checked trunk of car; nada.

I've torn the house apart. Called Mag's, to ask if she had any inkling where I might have placed it; finally broke down and call J, admitted that a, I've lost the CVS bag with stuff for A, but, b, the bunnies are not in my closet. Interrupted his showing his children "how to play the Wii Starwars Game" - oh boy. My bad.

Went back out to car. Tried trunk. Again.

Divine intervention, Providence - whatever you choose to call it: Thank Christ. I found the bunnies. He'd hidden them in a Sport's Athority bag (or something, whatever, who cares, the bunnies are found) so I'd figured the first time, it was Fox's array of sporting equipment I've been required to obtain over the past several years. The back seat? Empty. Clean even.

Kind of impressive, honestly, no stray schoolwork, errant army guys, the prerequisite matchbox car; nary a stray crayon. I wouldn't go so far as to say fresh off the showroom clean, but pretty darn close. Backseat devoid of anything but air.

Also means, no bag.

This woman slaves away, in Afganistan, and I manage to lose her conditioner? Lotion? Facial Scrub? Wax strips for her legs? What kind of adoptive parent am I?! I simply refuse to send a box containing only a freaking sock bunny I whipped up with Mag's this morning. (They're soooo cutie though! We just fell over with how fabulously they came out..their little Easter bonnets with embellishments, bow ties for the bow, even wee buttons - I digress)

25 minutes pass.

An agonizing 25 minutes: ran a tub for Fox, fed him his meds (sinus infection, double ear infection) and started from the top. Kitchen. Living room. Bedroom. Loft. Moved on. Searched weird places: the garage, the freezer, the office, the playroom, in drawers, under the sofa, under the kitchen sink.

Feel like huge boob.

Who loses whole bags of things?

Apparently, that would be me.

Delivered a handful of matchbox cars to small child yelling request at me to dig under blocks in basket so he may play with them while floating away in soaking tub. Wished I were the one soaking away. Is very stressful to lose things. Am rather pissy.

Made third goddamn trip to the freaking car looking in front seat this time. Under his school bag, beneath the artwork he brought home today, you know, where I swear the bag is not and................................there it was.

Right there, in front of me the whole time, under my very nose.

I'd say it was in the very last place I looked, but, DUH, you always find things in the last place you look! I hate that expression. Would you still continue to look if you didn't find it in the last place? Hmm? Would it be called the last place? I think not.

Otherwise, you'd still be frantically looking, gearing up for the immanent stroke, sweating, swearing, with some loved one telling you to calm down, just sit and retrace your steps, figure out where you took the bag inside - a voice so calm that your palms itch to slap them, because after all, you're so pissed you lost it calming down is. not. an. option.

No longer have that problem. Have found bag of goodies. Bunnies of chocolate. Bonus Biore' strip.

I'm exhausted.

I'll put this bag in a safe place (read: on top of dining room table) for the night. I'm too tired to pack the bloody box.

I mean, I can't really lose it again, right?