Late for School

It's the second last day of school today.

You'd think that by now I'd have some sort of good routine developed for the mornings, but it never fails. We still end up running around like headless chickens, with me admonishing my kids to "please brush your teeth... yes, you have to do it every day... did you think that maybe one of these day's you'd get to stop? ...do we own a comb? Why are you choosing to not use it, then? ... no, you do NOT wash your face ONLY in the bath... every morning... is this some sort of revelation?"

You get the picture.

But today, with it being the end of the year I guess, I like to mix things up a bit.

At least, that's the only reason why I can think that my keys were NOT on the key rack in the kitchen.

So after the frantic running around for One Last This, and One Last That, and where are my socks, and can I put penguin-shaped ice cubes in my water bottle, and why don't my flip-flops work if I'm wearing socks, and, and, and... suddenly Skip says "I need to be at school in five minutes, and why aren't we in the car?"

Oh, Captain Obvious. Maybe if you'd gotten your stuff together BEFORE you sat down to play the stick for half an hour after breakfast, you wouldn't be asking this question.

So I run around behind the kids, clapping my hands together right by their butts, saying "Out to the car! Out to the car! Get your stuff and get out in the car!"

And then I reach for my keys.

And they are NOT there.

Now many of you know me. And you know that I am the exact opposite of organized.

But I have ONE thing figured out. One thing and one thing only. And that is that I KNOW where my keys are, because there is ONE hook in the kitchen, and it is the HOME for my car keys. If I did not have that home, I know that I would never be able to leave the house, because I would never have my keys, because I would never remember where I put them last.

Ergo, the hook.

And this morning, the hook was empty.

Cue panic at the disco.

Empty the purse. Check my pockets. Examine the dining room table. Look on the piano. Look in the fridge (shut up!). Look in the laundry room. Empty my pockets from last night.

The keys are GONE.

Fortunately, I know where Ken stashes his keys, because he's WAY more organized than I am. I finally admit defeat, and grab Ken's keys and race out the front door to where the kids are waiting.

And I see this:

Why yes, those ARE my keys, conveniently waiting for me in the lock of my Front Door. I must have put them there yesterday to make it easier for the robbers and thieves to come pillage our house in the middle of the night.

Go ahead. Laugh. It's good for your health.