I have a problem with
cups. Mind you, not the type of being "in
my cups." No, those days are long
past due to age, motherhood, exhaustion and low tolerance. Let's just say one adult beverage and I am in
the bed soundly asleep rather quickly.
This has to do with the problem of cups being left around
the house. And not the kind filled with
water awaiting for aliens to visit and be repelled by a splash of water thrown
their way.
This affliction is the constant collection of used cups that seem
to gather in every room.
The other morning I
counted four tea cups sitting on my desk, having been used in the past week to
wake me up while I caught up on the world on my computer. A little quiet reading and delightfully tasty
moment before the harried day begins. As
I walked through the house, I noticed
that I am no the only one in my family with this problem.
Apparently, I married into the problem. A parade of large plastic mugs awaits me as I
stroll. Various placements catch my eye:
next to the bed, on the upstairs shelf, by the man-cave desk, and so
forth.
This is where it gets interesting. This seems to be a problem that can be passed
through DNA apparently. My children also
suffer from this problem. When doing a sweep
through the house with an empty laundry basket in hand, collecting things that
are scattered to put them back in their respective places, I see this cup
issue has run rampant in my house.
By the way, I highly recommend the laundry basket gathering technique if you have not tried it. One empty laundry basket perched on the hip
as you stroll though the house is the perfect gathering tool. I identify with my cave-person-sister and my
ancient-cousin-ancestor with their woven baskets . I now understand the evolution of the basket
and its appearance in every culture
They too had to walk around their cave or huts gathering up all the
mislaid items left by their family clan.
Alas, I digress. My
children have evolved an even better cup habit than the spouse and me. At least we leave ours our in the open where
they are seen and easily snatched up in the basket for cleaning and re-shelving. My little ones, however, have perfected the
talent of secreting the cups away. Cups
appear under sofas, under tables, amid toy piles, and even sandwiched in the
Thomas Train village or Barbie's' dream vacation home. The problem with this is that they go undiscovered
and usually filled with just enough juice to develop a science fair project
well deserving a winning ribbon. The
lovely smell that accompanies the juice that has been left to its own after a
week does not resemble vintage aged wine in any form or fashion. No, it has an aroma and color that would
repulse even the worse vintners.
I know that I have a problem and I am seeking a 12 step
program somewhere that can help me, and hopefully, my family. But for now, I guess that I must continue the
hunting and gathering phase of cup-dom in my life.
Please excuse me while I take another sip of my morning beverage from a cup that I know I will
be gathering soon enough into the laundry basket of the hunt.
