Tuesday was one of those days that you have a lot you really hope to accomplish, and then the universe just kind of body checks you into submission.
(I say “hope to accomplish,” because honestly, the only things I NEEDED to do that day were make sure the Zoe was fed and entertained and pick up the big girls from school. The rest of the day was relatively open, and I had mentally filled our schedule with a list of incredibly stay-at-home-mom-ish errands that weren’t essential, but you know, I don’t think it’s an accident that all of the spoons in my kitchen have mysteriously disappeared, AND there happens to be an IKEA nearby, with a Garden Ridge on the way home when I really need a wicker basket to put by the front door for soccer cleats and shin guards. It’s like some kind of First World Housewife Science or something.)
Tuesday I was also very tired. My back has been bothering me the past few days – no sciatic pain, but a general achiness that makes me want to kill people – and my run that morning was less than stellar. Add to that the 4-year-old that just would not. stop. talking, and it’s safe to say my patience was in short supply.
So you can imagine the string of mental expletives that ran through my head when I went to start the car and I had no car key.
I know exactly when this happened. Monday afternoon when Zoe and I walked over to pick Rachel and Claire from school, I felt something fall out of the hand that was holding my keys. I turned around and say my key fob sitting in the middle of the street, so I ran the few steps back, grabbed it, then hurried across to the sidewalk before the oncoming traffic ran me over. We live in this super inconvenient spot that’s practically right across a busy street from the elementary school, but because it’s not an intersection, there’s no lights or crosswalk or even a stop sign. We basically have to wait for a break in traffic and hope for the best (hooray for school zones!). So I had to do this all while holding Zoe’s hand with one of mine, and making sure my phone didn’t fall out of my pocket with the other. Ninja style.
I couldn’t figure out how the key fob fell off of my keyring, but I didn’t really have time to contemplate it, with the oncoming traffic and all. I just grabbed it, put it back on, continued on to the school, and forgot about it once I picked up my very loud, very shouty children.
And now here I was, sitting in my car on a Tuesday morning, realizing that my damn key must have fallen off with it.
Tuesday, you’re a foul beast, but now I know your friend Monday had a hand in it.
I went to look for it. I nervously stood on the median in the middle of the street while cars whizzed past – NOT during school zone time, by the way – while Zoe sat obediently out of the way in the corner of someone’s front yard, but nothing. I found the busted keyring, and a Lone Star bottle cap, but no key.
The bad news is I didn’t get my spoons or baskets. I declined Christian’s offer to run home and bring me his key, because I’m not a high maintenance girl, and in the grand scheme of things, this wasn’t anything that couldn’t wait another day. I can deal with shoes on the floor and stirring my coffee with a fork for one more day, if I must. The good news is that Zoe and I got to hang out at home. We rode her scooter and bike around the block a few times. We snuggled on the couch watching a terrible Monster High movie. I considered picking the big girls up early, because I missed them so much. Or maybe it was because, although I love days with my girl, I really needed someone else to bear the brunt of all the “Did you see me take that bite of applesauce?” and “Watch me swing! No. Stand HERE. Now watch!” and “Mom, do dogs know that they are….dogs?”
I almost cried from relief when Christian walked in the front door at lunchtime, handed me his car key, and said “Let’s go get lunch!” I will never again underestimate the freedom that a car key can bring. Or the madness that a chatty 4-year-old can bring on. Or Tuesday. I will never underestimate a Tuesday.