Friday, August 03, 2007

Here's the Thing

It was a not so hot morning here in our household. Day two of 'the Nine' challenge is going fine. Swimmingly well. Easy peasey I thought as I went to the gym. I did my time on the elliptical and did some lower body toning and was ready to hit the door when I realized, "oh yeah... I need to pick up the business mail."

I pull the P.O. box key out of my purse as I collected T.D. from the daycare. I set the key down on a kiddie table to pick her up and we leave. I trot on over to the mailbox place next door only to find I'm sans key. Yup. I left it in the daycare at the gym. I collect my mail anyway and head back over. Maybe a three minute interlude. I trudge back to the playroom, T.D. in arms. I tell the caretakers about the key. I look at the little table now populated with tiny tots coloring. No key. I search the bathroom. No key. I quickly scan the room's floor. Nada. I explain the situation for the third time to the nice playroom ladies. They look through toys. No freakin' key!

It's at this point that I begin suspiciously eyeing the tiny tots. I ask the ones coloring first, "Have you seen a little key? Just one key? It was on this table." The abnormally quiet little sages effectively tell me "No. No key here." There's a pack of four to five year old's across the room. Surely one of them has my key! I want to yell out, "Ok kids! Listen up! There's a key missing and I want all of you to empty your pockets. I'm going to frisk you now." There's a baby in a carrier. Maybe he has swiped the key? I leave the playroom telling them I'm going to the front desk to let them know.

I lug T.D. to the desk and leave my name and number as I pilfer through the key basket. Maybe I dropped it in there? I search outside the gym. Zip. No key. As I approach my car I realize that I'm no longer just parked next to the curb but also wedged into my spot by some sedan. A sedan, with the bumper sticker- "I like to spoon and fork", is so inexplicably close to me I couldn't get into my door even if I was Nicole Ritchie thin. Exasperated I wrench open the other side door and shove T.D. into her strap-laden car seat. I'm sweating only a tad bit less than I was on the elliptical machine. I climb over the passenger seat and into the driver's side managing to stab myself in the left buttock with my water bottle sitting in a cup holder. That'll leave a mark. Rubbing my tush I sigh... a lost key that I'll have to pay to replace because the spare was lost months ago.

I dump the contents of my purse on the seat next to me. I search through diapers, wipes, lip glosses to numerous to name, tiny kid barrettes, tissues- floral at least and unused thank God, gum, pens, writing notebook, and curse the suddenly huge bag. No key though. I want to scream. Ok so I do scream, but only for a minute.

Pre-T.D. this type of stuff just didn't happen to me. I was so together. Now I'm always sweating and grunting, feeling like I'm running a marathon that has no clear route. Sitting on my ass in an office was nothing but banal and annoying compared to life today where I could recreate a box of cheerios just with the contents of my car. At least my nails are always done.

1 comment:

  1. Charlotte2:54 PM

    How on earth to you keep your nails always done?

    ReplyDelete

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