Man, the "for worse" part is really being tested this week!
First it was hallucinating sleeping seven hours late in the middle of the night two nights ago and today it was an angry phone call about missing keys five minutes after he walked into his lab. And then a probably exasperating walk back to the car in the rain and then getting almost all the way home with the extra key before another, very sheepish phone call alerting him that I had found the wayward keys. And that they were in my purse.
It all started after I got both kids buckled into their seats in the car in the garage all bundled up and ready for school (Charlie's school. No matter how badly he and I both want him to go to school with Charlie they won't let Wes go until next year). I dashed back into the kitchen to grab my purse and reached inside to get my keys all the while musing whether I felt more like a breakfast taco or a latte and donut for my midmorning snack. But the keys were nowhere to be found.
I looked again. I took everything out. I searched the kitchen counter, the only other place I ever put them when I come inside because it is out of reach of the children. No keys.
I turned my purse upside down and shook it. Nothing.
Remembering that I had seen my recyclable grocery bag, which is usually in my purse, on the floor of the laundry room, I surmised that some little hands had been messing around with my purse, which is a BIG NO NO. Now I was getting really annoyed.
I got on hands and knees and searched the whole laundry room, under the washer and dryer, IN THE BAG OF freaking DOG FOOD all the while making quite the angry spectacle of myself. Nothing.
I went to the car and asked in a less than patient, not at all nurturing voice if anyone had any idea where my keys might be. "Grandpa has them" said Charlie. "Why on earth would Grandpa take my keys???" I asked. He had no answer.
I called Ryan to ask if he had noticed them someplace weird in the house. He somehow managed to detect that I was angry and getting a little frantic at the prospect of losing another day of preschool (i.e. screwing around time for ME) this week. He asked if I had taken everything out of my bag. I HAD! I SHOOK IT OUT! NO KEYS! I wailed. He suggested he come home and bring me his set of keys. No no no, I said. Not necessary, I bleated out, not meaning it at all. He said he was on his way.
I crawled all over the living room floor feeling under couches and chairs. Found Thomas the Tank Engine, which has been missing for a week, a small victory, but no keys.
Finally, after I had searched the entire living room, laundry room, toy room, TV cabinet, dog food bag, under all appliances in the kitchen, I decided to look in my purse one more time.
I angrily jammed my hand inside and was feeling around when my hand slammed up against something hard and my car beeped at me from the garage.
Oh shit. OH SHIT!
They were in the side pocket. I didn't even know my purse HAD a side pocket. It is apparently a very secure side pocket as it somehow managed to hold my keys hostage despite a vigorous upside down shaking.
I called Ryan and explained that I had, uh, found my keys, in my purse. Heh heh heh. See you tonight! Love ya!
I took him a dozen donuts after I dropped Charlie off.