Today during one of my hourly fits of parental frustration, I had an epiphany. An idea that could make moms (and potentially dads) everywhere MILLIONAIRES! Okay, maybe not millionaires, but it would be a source of extra income, and who couldn’t use that? I personally don’t know a damn soul who wouldn’t be willing to accept some dollars for little to no effort whatsoever.
This isn’t one of those “Get rich quick” pyramid schemes. You don’t have to join a team or recruit other people. This is ALL FOR YOU. Doing the shit you do on a day to day basis anyway, just monetizing it.
The idea came to me as I was doing my makeup in the upstairs bathroom this morning. The kids were “playing” together down the hallway (which really consists of bossing each other around and complaining that the other isn’t following some set of fictional rules that change with the fucking wind) when I heard the familiar sound of panic. Not the “I broke a toy” panic, or the shriek of being hurt. Not the “he’s hitting me” panic, or “I spilled something on the carpet when I wasn’t supposed to have something upstairs in the first place but I NEVER LISTEN”. It wasn’t the yelp of “I waited way too long to pee/poop and now I’m going to shit/piss myself”, or the “sibling isn’t listening to me even though I never listen to him so I don’t know why I expect any different” wail that I often hear ringing through the vents of my home.
It was the quick, shrill grunt of “I’ve gone and lost something again”. I’m not an organized person, but I’ve never met a soul on this planet who “loses” things more quickly, and more often than children. One second it’s in their sticky little hands, and the next, POOF! MAGIC! GONE! I constantly find myself wondering if we should call David Blaine and tell him that he’s been usurped by a bunch of pants-peeing heathens, because no one can make something disappear better than kids.
After standing by and listening to the panic escalate for a few minutes, I realize this isn’t going to be one of those situations where he finds his “lost” item. It’s never one of those situations where they find their “lost” items, is it? No. We are always called in. Always. They always swear that the thing they are “looking” for is gone forever, never to be seen again. That they have searched every single square inch of the house and the only logical explanation was that it was sucked into a magical vortex, never to return.
What did I do? What I always do. I walked into the room, clarified what this mysteriously vanishing toy was, and immediately found it right. in. front. of. him. Just like I said it would be. Just like it is nine times out of ten. RIGHT IN FRONT OF HIM.
In that moment, an idea was birthed from my frustrated, exhausted brain.
What if– WHAT IF– every “lost” toy we find that is in plain sight and could be found if they ACTUALLY LOOKED FOR ONCE… we kept. And not just kept… but sold online (craigslist, ebay, etc.)
Now, I know the bajillion cups and random single socks you pick up won’t go for much, but what about the rest? If I had money for every toy my kids swore was lost but was actually right in front of them, I’d have enough money to… well, I wouldn’t be a millionaire, but I’d have money to do things! Legos ain’t cheap, y’all.
If you think this is too much work, or perhaps even too traumatizing for your precious crotchfruit, I have a back up plan. Yeah, that’s right, my brain has been in overdrive!
SELL THE TOYS BACK TO THE KIDS.
You want your shit back, little Jimmy? PAY ME A RECOVERY FEE! Mama is no longer working for free, we are detectives, and our services cost money. Any money that might be doled out for allowance will be paid right back to us, which means… our house gets cleaned for FREE.
Or… maybe, just maybe, at the threat of either of these choices, they’ll learn to actually LOOK AROUND THEM before whining and crying and panicking that it’s the end of the world because a couple of Lego pieces have gone missing.
A mom can dream.
Dear people writing articles on ways to get siblings to get along, I'll save you the time. The answer is "Don't let them play together"
Please stop Complimenting my kids’ “Good” Behavior goo.gl/fb/rwfojS
Hard pass from me pic.twitter.com/VayvW1eopK
I've gotten to the point where I'd let my kids summon a demon with a Ouija board before I'd let them play Monopoly together again.
Parenthood is when you start counting the minutes to bed time before 11am.