As we headed out the door this morning, a tad on the late side, I realized I didn’t have my keys. I put the load of things I was carrying into the car, planning to run in and fetch the keys.
I noticed the seat was pulled waaaaayyy back. Which, of course, means my husband was the last to drive. After checking the place he usually leaves the keys, and not finding them, I did the next logical thing. I asked him where they were.
Sporting only his towel, he started helping me look. And we looked. And we looked. And he kind of apologized. And I stayed reasonably cool even though things like this drive me bat-shit crazy.
“You went to the library and then to the grocery store. Where would you have put them next?” I asked, trying to jog his memory.
“But I took my car to the grocery.”
“Oh. So we went to breakfast and came home. Where would you have put them after breakfast?”
“I thought I handed them to you.”
We keep looking. At this point, I actually unbuckle Nicholas and ask Maggie to help me look under tables and couches. Getting the kids out of the car when we should be at school right now was so, so wrong. And yet I kept my cool. Even though things like this drive me more than bat-shit crazy.
Then I kind of remember that I was packing the car with a few boxes to give to a friend. And I was on my way out the door when Mike told me he thought Nicholas was running a fever. So I tended to Nicholas and cancelled with my friend.
This kind of changes the momentum of the search.
As in my husband realizes I was the last one who had the keys, and he is a little less helpful and I am a ton less smug.
So I begin the search anew. Pulling apart the couch that Nick and I curled up on while his fever raged. Nothing. Running down to the basement to check the area where the boxes had been. Nothing. Checking in the boxes because that would be just like me. Nothing.
I checked upstairs again. I checked the pants that were in the laundry knowing there is no way the keys were in there as that would make my pants fall down and that’s not the look I’m going for.
My white jacket! They are in my white jacket. Where in the hell is my white jacket?
So I begin the search for my white jacket. How could I lose a whole, big white jacket. And then I did a sweep back through the living room where I had tossed my white jacket onto the white couch that was directly opposite the couch that I had curled up on with Nick while his fever raged.
(At this point I am sooooo glad I had kept my mouth shut when we thought hubby had misplaced them. The apology would have made us that much later.)
And we left. Some days are just a little harder than others to get out the door.