Last night my husband needed a lift some place down the street. So, we loaded up the kids, the dog, the vacuum cleaner extension that also doubles as Grayson's light saber at times and we were redtogo! Except I couldn't find my keys.
"Check the kitchen."
"Check the upstairs."
"Uh-Uh, not there either."
"What jacket did you wear today?"
"All very good suggestions but I've checked all those already."
Abby who is immobilized by her car seat sounds off with the kind of medieval cry that only get worse before better so we agree to just go with the extra set of keys for now. Since my vehicle is in the driveway, I'm trusting the keys I used to get it there cannot be very far.
*If I only knew how close*
As we're driving, I'm completely preoccupied with where my keys could be. There is not a trace of mental imaging I can scare up in my foggy memory to figure out where they may have wound up. Maybe Abby walked away with them when we picnicked in the front yard? Maybe they are are the sunroom? Maybe I left them in the change bin on the....
"What was dat, Mommy?"
My husband and I trade screwed up faces and stare at the ceiling of the minivan.
"I think I remember where I left my keys, Honey."
"On top of the van."