I took the kids to Target to buy Leo some new shorts.
To keep the kids from revolting during a shopping trip for Papa pants, I hand over my keys.
When we got to the car, Simeon hopped right in and buckled up. I put the buggy in the return, but when I went to put baby D. in the car, found the car was locked. How?
After a few moments of staring blankly at the locked door, I pass Baby D. through the window to Simeon (cue foster parent of the year montage) and tell him not to drop the baby so that I can dump my purse out on the ground. It was about that time I was imagining how much easier this would be if I carried a smaller purse [Daisy, this made me think of you and all of the times you’ve balked at my ginormous purses]. No luck. I climb up on the runner board and wedge myself in through the window to unbuckle Simeon so he could unlock the door from the inside.
Which he did. But then my car alarm started going off. And I searched my bags. And the children. All the while Baby D’s screaming at the noise and the chaos. Simeon’s hopping up and down on my seat ever so helpfully hollering “Check your pockets! Check ALL your pockets!!!”
Finally, I unload the children and walk back to the buggy return, frazzled and sweating, to find my keys wedged in the bottom of the buggy.
About that time the woman parked across from me, apparently waiting to see the crazy unfold, rolled down her window and said “Whew! I’m sure glad you found those keys. I was just sittin’ here thinkin’ that poor woman has lost her keys!”
Seriously. Seriously? Seriously.