FOUND at the Tenderich household on a typical day (this was last Tuesday):
test strips in the washing machine - 3
on the bathroom counter - 4
in jeans pockets, front and back - 6 (admittedly, those jeans hadn't been washed for a while)
on floor in kids' rooms - 1
on floor of MiniVan - 2
in MiniVan cupholders - 3
in microwave oven - 1 (the stench of burnt chemicals still lingers)
in the backyard sandbox - 1 (accompanied by blood-curdling yell of "MOMMY!! This is yours!")
My oldest daughter says she can now "tell where I've been" by the trail of test strips. She chooses to announce this as we are trudging through the cereal aisle in Safeway, with my 4-year-old riding shotgun in the grocery cart, belting out her best high-volume rendition of "I Like Big Butts, and I Cannot Lie."
I grin and stare into the distance. Through my teeth, I ask, "What was that you said about test strips, Honey?..."
On the way out of the store, I mumble something about "being too old for all this."
My 8-year-old pipes up: "Oh Mommy, you look like you're 28 ... and you smell like it, too!"
Knock on wood.