My cups runneth over the place

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.