My son is pretty damned awesome. He also makes me have frantic moments of mommy brain. If you’ve ever had a child, you know what this is. You forget where everything is, you’re always late, you can’t keep track of anything AT ALL. My life is like a Where’s Waldo puzzle except I don’t even know what the hell I’m looking for half the time.
Today was definitely one of those days.
So, I’m getting ready for work and I’ve got the little guy all set and ready to go. Except for the fact that I can’t find the keys. I need the keys to lock my door and to start my car…they are kinda crucial to my day beginning.
Mind you, I’m in the middle of moving so the majority of my stuff is on the floor or in boxes. I recall my son holding the keys last night before we went over to the new apartment but he didn’t take them with us. So that negates the possibility of them being in the new spot.
So I call my boss and tell her “my son hid my keys, I will be there as soon as I find them.” I’m thinking, this is going to take me…at most…10 more minutes. I was SERIOUSLY wrong. After 30 minutes, I have scoured the living room, dining room, kitchen, bedrooms, and bathrooms. After an hour, I have checked the new apartment, the car, the refrigerator, the dishwasher, the sinks, even the toilets.
I’m in full blown panic mode. I call my boss back. I want her to know that I’m seriously trying here. I didn’t plan on being late, damn it, I can’t lose hours at work, I’m seriously stressed out, dear God why is this happening to me? My son walks up while I’m on the phone and I look at him and tell him he is a bad child. I know he’s not but in that moment, I’m convinced he might just be out to get me. Hell, the boys peed in my eye…He’s holding a grudge about something.
I keep looking, texting my sister as if this will somehow solve my problems. She tells me to check the couch. Did that. Finally, I’m getting down to my sons level, asking in a shaky voice “dear child, where did you put the keys? Show mommy where the keys are, okay? Can you do that for mommy?”
“Keys,” he says.
He runs into the next room and I follow. Yes! He’s going to show me where he hid them. He stops, turns toward me and puts his hands up. “I don’t know.” I am full blown crying. I’m imagining losing my job, being poorer than I already am, having a nervous breakdown and drowning myself in a pool of WTF. All the while, my precious child wants to know if we can play with cars. NO, NO WE CANNOT PLAY WITH CARS. What we can do is find the keys so mommy can drive the real car so you can go to daycare and I can go make money to buy a damn key locator!!!!!!!
My sister texts me: Did you check the trash?
I’m already on the first bag. I call my sons father to see if he has a spare Jeep key. Not that it will do me any good today but hell, I’m trying to figure out how I’m going to get to work on Friday now. Because today is looking like a lost cause. I hang up with him and go back to trash picking.
Yesterdays food, something I cannot identify, soiled diapers, is that oil, wtf is that on my hand? I would never have made it as a trash collector. I can wipe my sons ass, I can clean up blood and vomit. I cannot pick trash.
I’ve about lost all hope until the bottom of the third bag. EEYORE! That’s my Eeyore key chain. HOLY FUCKNUGGETS! MY KEYS! MY KEYS! PRAISE BABY JESUS IN A PINK FRILLY TUTU!!! THOSE ARE MY FUCKING KEYS!
And then I start crying again. I call my boss and try to hold it together as I tell her I found my keys BUT I have to take a shower because now I smell like shit.
I was two hours late to work.
In hindsight, it was funny. In the moment, it sucked donkey balls. I know it’s my fault for leaving the keys in range of my curious two year old. He’s not a bad kid. I’m just a dim-witted mom trying to move. I still think I need to buy a key locator thingymabob.
And the next time this happens, because of course it will, I’m checking the trash FIRST.