The Importance of Keys

So it's time to play a bit of catch-up. Several posts are lined up, all waiting in my brain's cue to be completed. They are taking up too much precious space in my over-taxed mommy brain, so I need to get them down in writing.

We will start with: Keys!

One thing you should know about me: I never lose my keys.

Never.

This is simply because I am exactly the kind of person who loses their keys.

Over the years, I have forced myself to always, always, always put my keys in the same place, so there is no chance I will absent-mindedly drop them somewhere, only to have to retrace my steps when it's time to leave the house again. Keeping this in mind, picture a chilly February morning. The kids and Batman are out the door, off to school and work. I am dashing around the house getting ready to leave for work myself. I've had my coffee, and am ready to head out. I've even left a few extra minutes in case I get caught by the train. I check my purse for my keys.

They're not there.

Weird, I think.

I go to grab them off the counter.

Not there either.

Seriously?

The day before had been so busy, I hadn't even been in other parts of the house. I looked and looked, rearranging a small stack of papers I hadn't touched in days. I glance at the clock, become a bit panicked, and start digging through the couch cushions, knowing they aren't there.

I checked the clock again. Was I really going to have to call my boss, saying I would be late because I couldn't find my keys? It was getting more absurd by the moment, and I began to suspect my children were involved. One six-year-old in particular.

I call my boss.

I blame my kids.

I looked and looked, and don't ask why I even thought to look here, probably because it was the only four square inches of space I hadn't checked already.

But after 40 minutes, here is where I found them:

What? You don't see them? They're right there.

And with that, Gabriel's fate was sealed. A talking to for sure!

Fast forward to that same evening in February. Our elementary school hosted an event. Batman met us there straight from work. We were among the last to leave. Gabriel hopped into my car, asked if he could sit in the driver's seat for a moment. I said yes, and stood right next to him as the car warmed up, and Batman and I finished chatting.

Batman leaves.

My ex-husband is there, ready to take the boys back with him.

And then it happened.

Somehow. Some. How.

Gabriel locked my keys in the car.

While it was running.

My ex witnesses this. He humanely offers to allow me to sit in his warm car while I wait for rescue. I decline. He really needs to get the kiddos back to his house and into bed.

I wonder where my film crew is. The absurdity that is my everyday life with my amazing kiddos should be documented. And broadcast. Even if only for the benefit of other moms and the absurdity that is their life.

A mom I know is leaving the deserted school. She asks how she can help. I laugh as I explain my situation. She laughs even harder, especially as I recount events from earlier in the day. Her lovely six-year-old Lily doesn't undertand our hysteria. The mom offers me gum.

Gum.

Because she doesn't have any vodka.

I happily accept.

She leaves, knowing my Batman is on his way to rescue me.

The chewing action of my gum fails to keep me from shivering as I wait, laughing inside at my beautiful, wacky adventure of motherhood.

My hero arrives. More laughter. More head-shaking. Life is good.