"Everything's Not Lost"

Our house isn't that big. We don't have a ton of stuff. We have few flat surfaces for depositing small (or big) items. Would someone please explain to me how we keep losing stuff?

First it was my Swiss Army knife (which I've since recoverd and had surgically attached to my right hand), then it was an endless line of car keys, credit cards, toy skateboards, ball point pens, dirty underwear, -item censored-, and even food items. Ever since Connor came along, we just can't seem to keep track of our stuff.

Yesterday, as per our usual routine, Connor and I made a trip to Wal-Mart. In the course of our travels, he conned me into buying him yet another Matchbox car. He's quickly approaching a car collection that would make Jay Leno blush.

Twenty minutes after we returned home, the car was gone. I remember seeing it in the house, so I KNOW we made it home with the toy car. Despite turning the house upside down (literally...I'm freakishly strong), I have yet to find the damn thing. I'm sure when we move in August (back to Atlanta, maybe you've heard!?), we'll stumble on Connor's secret hiding spot where he keeps his Playboys, the countless number of my guitar picks he's absconded with or the password to his MySpace account.

I've mentioned how much I hate to lose track of stuff, right?

I think, for my sanity's sake—especially when he's not even aware a specific toy is missing—I just have to try and forget about keeping track of everything Connor owns...especially since the worth of his enormous toy collection is quickly approaching the GNP of many small countries.

Maybe I can just get my OCD medication upped instead?