Tuesday, May 15, 2007

Why Jake Almost Didn't Make It Through Mother's Day


My Mother's Day started out a little more hectic than most: Dave was away for the weekend and I had the kids to myself until Sunday afternoon when he returned. So instead of trying to entertain the boys myself all day I made plans to drive to Providence to spend Mother's Day morning with my own mom.

In case you don't know, in my house mornings – even on weekends, and even on Mother's Day – mean actual morning. We're usually up, dressed, and almost done with breakfast by 6 a.m. So yesterday, even after lazing about a bit, we were dressed, fed, jacketed up and ready to go by 7:15 a.m.

Except one thing: I couldn't find my keys.

In fairness to Jake, I can almost never find my keys. I typically throw them in the crook by the front door, but sometimes put them in my purse, other times leave them in my coat, sometimes toss them on the counter, occasionally leave them in the door, and once even left them on the roof of my car. But even worse than my inability to keep track of my keys is Jake's sudden love of hiding things.

He takes magnets from the refrigerator, opens cabinets, places them inside pots, puts the covers back on the pots, closes the cabinets and then walks away. He takes one shoe and brings it to the complete other side of the house, only to toss it under something. I'm not sure he does it intentionally, but he does it all the time. Usually it's funny. On Sunday morning it was infuriating.

I knew I had seen him wandering with my keys earlier, so I looked around my bedroom, where I had seen him last. Nothing. I combed the likely locations. Nothing. Next I looked in some less likely – and less desirable - places: on the floor, in the cabinet in the bathroom, in the pots and pans in my cabinets, in the trash, by the cat's dish, in the toybox and even in the diaper pail. Again, nothing.

Next, I turned to Jake, who had been following me around the house eagerly.

"Where are my keys?" No reply. I asked Owen to help me look. He obliged and began to tear through his toy box, only to find a long-lost toy that quickly distracted him. Still, no keys.

After 30 minutes I called my mother, in tears.

"We're not coming," I said. "Not only can't we drive to Providence, we can't even leave the house."

I hung up, furious with Jake, with Owen, with karma, with my cluttered house, with Mother's Day, and with anything else that popped into my head. I walked through my house one final time, dumping out every box of toys, taking every pillow off every couch, lifting the corner of every rug, opening every cabinet and sorting through every drawer.

45 minutes into my search I opened the drawer of Owen's train table and shuffled through the mess of trains, tracks and little people. My keys were at the very bottom.

I'd like to say I've learned something from all of this, but I'm not sure I did. My house is still filled with a million little places for Jake to hide stuff, he still quietly steals things and squirrels them away, and I've already misplaced my keys twice since then.


But next time I go to Target I'm picking up a belated Mother's Day present for myself: a key rack, that I will hang well above Jake's reach.

4 comments:

Anonymous said...

It was very interesting for me to read this blog. Thank you for it. I like such themes and anything connected to them. I would like to read a bit more soon.

Anonymous said...

BTW, try GPS blocker to disable all spy devices in your home or office.

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Tara Denny said...

^^ Looks like you have a spammer problem.

I enjoyed reading this SO much. I have the same situation in my house twice daily. : )
Hubby got me this little remote thing that hooks to my keychain, and when I lose them now, I call a number and enter a code, and my thing beeps until I hang up the phone. GLORIOUS!