"Mom, did you see my wallet?" my 15-year-old asked.

"I believe the last time I saw it, it was on the washing machine," I replied.

"It's not there anymore," he said accusingly. "Did you move it?"

I am baffled that the men in my 'ohana are constantly searching for personal items THEY have misplaced. What is even more disconcerting is the fact that I'm the one to blame for moving them!

There are areas in and out of the house designated for personal stuff. Footballs, soccer balls and basketballs go in the ball bin. Textbooks are placed in their backpacks unless not in use; then they should be stored in their school locker.

There is a storage cabinet for DVDs, and clothes dressers for shorts and T-shirts.

Do they use these assigned areas? Maybe 5 percent of the time.

I found a basketball in the clothes hamper, a paper clip in the refrigerator and my husband's laptop in our garage.

The best place for my son to store his wallet is probably on the dresser. But for some reason, it found its way to a most unusual spot: the lid of the washing machine.

A number of things could have happened to it. It could have accidentally slipped into the washer when the lid was lifted to wash clothes. Our dog, Koa, could have snatched it off the top and used it as a chew toy. Or my youngest son could have mistaken it for his own and walked off with it.

But instead of weighing different scenarios, my eldest immediately assumed his mother moved it.

I've decided that I'm going to take a stance. I'm tired of being unjustly accused of something I did not do. I'm the victim, here, not the culprit!

E ola au i ke akua.

May I live by God.

This 'olelo no'eau is an oath that God is my witness that I am not guilty of the misdeed of which I am accused.

"Look, Mom, I swear I left my wallet on the washing machine," my son said, agitated.

"Did you retrace your steps?" I tried to sound encouraging. "Maybe it's in your backpack or a pants pocket."

Sometimes I wonder if my son is suffering from short-term memory loss. He consistently misplaces his belongings.

We scoured the garage and yard to no avail.

Just as we opened the front door of our home, my youngest was exiting.

"Hey, what are you guys doing?" he asked.

"We're looking for your brother's wallet," I said. "I think he lost it."

"It's right here," my youngest retreated into the house, snatching up his brother's wallet from the kitchen countertop. "Don't you remember you put it here, Mom? You said you didn't want him to lose his wallet."

Mmmm ... I don't remember that.

"Yes, son," my husband teased. "I never lost anything until your mother started cleaning up after me!"

Reach Ka'ohua Lucas at Family Matters, 'Ohana section, The Advertiser, P.O. Box 3110, Honolulu, HI 96802; or at ohana@honoluluvertiser.com.