Parenting

I Can't Be The Only One Wondering Where All My F*cking Spoons Are, Right?

by Samantha Angoletta
Updated: 
Originally Published: 
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I feel like my dishwasher might be eating spoons in the same manner that my dryer inhales our socks.

In theory, I have enough spoons for each member of our family to use with every meal, and still have some leftover at the end of the day. Without relying on running the dishwasher, or standing over the sink giving them a half-assed hand-wash while eager, hungry children look on impatiently.

In actuality, I can never find a damn spoon when we need it. Or I can find two spoons, but I have three children who I would like to encourage to use utensils when eating things like cereal and soup. I’m constantly looking around the kitchen with my hands up in the air like “Who is hoarding the damn spoons?”

I’m convinced the baby is throwing them away or stashing them somewhere. I just hope that somewhere doesn’t involve plumbing or heating vents or any other place that could hold spoons and also cost me lots of money to repair/replace.

We seem to need spoons a lot in this house — to stir, scoop, taste. They seem to be the tool of preference for my children, even when a fork could be easily swapped. I’m not looking to get into a battle of wills over cutlery. I’m just happy they are willing to use a tool other than their grubby hands to get the food from their plates to their mouths.

So I’ve started ordering spoons in massive quantities. I’m not kidding. I don’t care about matching silverware. I don’t care about weight, and length, and all sorts of the crap that I didn’t know people actually cared about when selecting eating utensils. I just want piles and piles of spoons. Affordable spoons. That way when they go missing, I can just order another set.

Amazon

I’m honestly just thinking about Amazon’s “Subscribe and Save” for these bad boys at this point. 36 stainless steel teaspoons for $12, and no more yelling, “Go look under the couch if you want to eat your cereal before it’s get soggy!” as I’m attempting to scrub caked-on oatmeal from a spoon the good old-fashioned way.

Nope. I’m spoon rich now, baby.

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