It was a normal unassuming typical Tuesday, the day the peanut butter went missing. I couldn't believe it myself. Although looking back, it shouldn't have been too big of a surprise. But I'm jumping ahead of the story.
I enjoy a piece of peanut butter toast on occasion. Last Tuesday was going to be one of those occasions. I took out the bread and the toaster and opened the cupboard to fetch the peanut butter. It was gone.
I was puzzled at first, thinking perhaps someone put the peanut butter in an alternate location. I looked behind other items on the shelf but the tea bags and hot cocoa were not hiding the peanut butter. I checked the likely places in the kitchen: The fridge, pantry and cupboards and came up empty. I went to my boys' bedrooms and looked on the dressers, bookshelves and under the beds. There wasn't a ground peanut to be had.
I even rummaged through the garbage. Maybe someone tossed the peanut butter in there. Stranger things have happened. I've found cutlery, plates and cups in the garbage on prior occasions (but that's another article). After all my searching, I remained - in a word - peanutbutter-less. (And hungry.)
I was perplexed. We don't purchase the little snack-size peanut butter. Our jar is economy-grade and hefty. There weren't many places one could stuff a large jar of peanut butter. Nor did I think someone had eaten the entire jar. That would take some doing.
The people living with me are capable of enormous consumption. They are mostly teenage boys and teenage boys are notorious for their eating aptitudes. I don't want to brag, but my boys can down an entire box of Triscuits while waiting for the oven to preheat so they can cook and eat a whole pizza (or two). And that's just an after-school snack.
But a nearly full economy-size jar of peanut butter would be a little much - even for boys with gargantuan snacking talents. Still, I knew I hadn't touched the peanut butter. It had to be one of them.
It was a mystery, and my middle name is practically Scooby Do, so I did what any ordinary, 2016 CSI-inclined mom would do. I sent a group text: "Who took the peanut butter?" I typed in the frustrated-face emoji to further communicate my angst.
My husband, who is well versed in our weird and wacky life because he has also retrieved forks and spoons from the garbage, replied with the smiley face emoji. That guy gets me. I had to smile. Over the years we've learned sometimes you have to laugh at the oddity of any given situation. It's either that or go crazy. And if we went loco, who'd be around to search for the peanut butter?
Within three minutes of sending the first text, I'd heard from all the innocents, who were adamant about their peanut butter deficiencies. Then I got the message I'd been waiting for. The confession. Indeed, one child did take the entire jar of peanut butter - for a school project.
What can a mom say to that? School projects trump breakfast any time of the day. I beamed with pride; my son went to the effort of remembering he had a school project. Then I reached for the strawberry jam. My stomach was rumbling and the toast was just about ready.
- Jill Pertler's column appears Thursdays in the Times. She can be reached at pertmn@qwest.net.
I enjoy a piece of peanut butter toast on occasion. Last Tuesday was going to be one of those occasions. I took out the bread and the toaster and opened the cupboard to fetch the peanut butter. It was gone.
I was puzzled at first, thinking perhaps someone put the peanut butter in an alternate location. I looked behind other items on the shelf but the tea bags and hot cocoa were not hiding the peanut butter. I checked the likely places in the kitchen: The fridge, pantry and cupboards and came up empty. I went to my boys' bedrooms and looked on the dressers, bookshelves and under the beds. There wasn't a ground peanut to be had.
I even rummaged through the garbage. Maybe someone tossed the peanut butter in there. Stranger things have happened. I've found cutlery, plates and cups in the garbage on prior occasions (but that's another article). After all my searching, I remained - in a word - peanutbutter-less. (And hungry.)
I was perplexed. We don't purchase the little snack-size peanut butter. Our jar is economy-grade and hefty. There weren't many places one could stuff a large jar of peanut butter. Nor did I think someone had eaten the entire jar. That would take some doing.
The people living with me are capable of enormous consumption. They are mostly teenage boys and teenage boys are notorious for their eating aptitudes. I don't want to brag, but my boys can down an entire box of Triscuits while waiting for the oven to preheat so they can cook and eat a whole pizza (or two). And that's just an after-school snack.
But a nearly full economy-size jar of peanut butter would be a little much - even for boys with gargantuan snacking talents. Still, I knew I hadn't touched the peanut butter. It had to be one of them.
It was a mystery, and my middle name is practically Scooby Do, so I did what any ordinary, 2016 CSI-inclined mom would do. I sent a group text: "Who took the peanut butter?" I typed in the frustrated-face emoji to further communicate my angst.
My husband, who is well versed in our weird and wacky life because he has also retrieved forks and spoons from the garbage, replied with the smiley face emoji. That guy gets me. I had to smile. Over the years we've learned sometimes you have to laugh at the oddity of any given situation. It's either that or go crazy. And if we went loco, who'd be around to search for the peanut butter?
Within three minutes of sending the first text, I'd heard from all the innocents, who were adamant about their peanut butter deficiencies. Then I got the message I'd been waiting for. The confession. Indeed, one child did take the entire jar of peanut butter - for a school project.
What can a mom say to that? School projects trump breakfast any time of the day. I beamed with pride; my son went to the effort of remembering he had a school project. Then I reached for the strawberry jam. My stomach was rumbling and the toast was just about ready.
- Jill Pertler's column appears Thursdays in the Times. She can be reached at pertmn@qwest.net.
