time gnomes (a.k.a. idiot games part one)
So, keys are an important part of daily life once you become a card carrying member of the adult population. They represent the weight of responsibility, and a bit of a power trip to boot, depending on the size of your ring (yes, gentlemen, size does sometimes matter). Not only that, but they serve the entirely practical purpose of unlocking things, or so the story goes.
My children and husband adore laughing at me. This has been a long running sport, the rules of which my husband indoctrinates the children in before they can even speak the English language. Granted, I often make it a little too easy for them, like the time my hand got trapped between the handle and the drawer front on one of the kitchen drawers while my other hand was mere inches from the screwdriver which could set me free. When I called for help in reaching the screwdriver, instead they raced for the camera. I believe the husband won that particular race.
Lately, I have been attempting to lighten the mood in the house regularly. This could also be called making a lot of silly mistakes, but I choose to look on the bright side (here we must whistle a little and think Monty Python).
So, a few days ago, before the bodily collapse, when I was still doing a lot of yard work, I misplaced my keys. I figured I had just set them down in the wrong place. It became obvious after awhile that they were well and truly missing. My brain had fizzled to such an extent that I didn't even know if I had brought them inside. After an hour's search, my darling husband decided to recruit the whole household in the operation. My eldest (N), in an effort to encourage the youngers to put forth maximum effort calmly informed those youngers that lost keys meant it quite possible that someone would come into our house and murder us all in our beds. This going for them, they bent noses to the ground with added gusto.
Eventually, the keys were found in the diaper bag (the first, sixth, eleventh, twenty-seventh, and last places searched). Everyone went calmly back to their duties of destroying their living environment.
Fast forward twenty-four hours. About to take S, the second-born, to football, I suddenly realized I didn't know where my keys were hiding. I whispered this tidbit of information to S in the hopes that he would protect my vulnerable ego from vigorous bruising. I begged him to check the diaper bag while I would check the purse (the two places they are usually kept). I didn't think it was going to be a big deal. After ten minutes, however, we were still searching. Since we were on the verge of running late for football, it became apparent that we were going to have to let the Dad in on the secret. He felt it his duty as coach of the National Pick on Mom Society to let all of the previously ignorant children in on our little secret.
Once they had regained control of bodily functions, the keys were soon found. They were, once again, in the diaper bag, but this time that was the only place that I hadn't searched...and they all had. So tell me, dear reader, do you think that feeling of triumph was destined to have long life?
I'll let you know after I find my keys.
My children and husband adore laughing at me. This has been a long running sport, the rules of which my husband indoctrinates the children in before they can even speak the English language. Granted, I often make it a little too easy for them, like the time my hand got trapped between the handle and the drawer front on one of the kitchen drawers while my other hand was mere inches from the screwdriver which could set me free. When I called for help in reaching the screwdriver, instead they raced for the camera. I believe the husband won that particular race.
Lately, I have been attempting to lighten the mood in the house regularly. This could also be called making a lot of silly mistakes, but I choose to look on the bright side (here we must whistle a little and think Monty Python).
So, a few days ago, before the bodily collapse, when I was still doing a lot of yard work, I misplaced my keys. I figured I had just set them down in the wrong place. It became obvious after awhile that they were well and truly missing. My brain had fizzled to such an extent that I didn't even know if I had brought them inside. After an hour's search, my darling husband decided to recruit the whole household in the operation. My eldest (N), in an effort to encourage the youngers to put forth maximum effort calmly informed those youngers that lost keys meant it quite possible that someone would come into our house and murder us all in our beds. This going for them, they bent noses to the ground with added gusto.
Eventually, the keys were found in the diaper bag (the first, sixth, eleventh, twenty-seventh, and last places searched). Everyone went calmly back to their duties of destroying their living environment.
Fast forward twenty-four hours. About to take S, the second-born, to football, I suddenly realized I didn't know where my keys were hiding. I whispered this tidbit of information to S in the hopes that he would protect my vulnerable ego from vigorous bruising. I begged him to check the diaper bag while I would check the purse (the two places they are usually kept). I didn't think it was going to be a big deal. After ten minutes, however, we were still searching. Since we were on the verge of running late for football, it became apparent that we were going to have to let the Dad in on the secret. He felt it his duty as coach of the National Pick on Mom Society to let all of the previously ignorant children in on our little secret.
Once they had regained control of bodily functions, the keys were soon found. They were, once again, in the diaper bag, but this time that was the only place that I hadn't searched...and they all had. So tell me, dear reader, do you think that feeling of triumph was destined to have long life?
I'll let you know after I find my keys.
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posted by atypical at
12:31 AM
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