Once at work, I talked to my friend, G. She offered her car to me if I wanted to run home at lunch. I called my mom who had left to go back home on Sunday morning. "Did you happen to find my keys in your stuff?" I asked. When she said, 'no.' I was a little relieved and a little disappointed: relieved that I didn't have to try to get my keys from 7 hrs away, disappointed that I still didn't know where they were. She gave me a few ideas. "Did you look inside of each of your shoes? Are you sure you didn't leave them in x, y, z? I bet they just fell somewhere." So I borrowed G's car to look through the places Mom and I had reviewed. After exhausting those, I was more worried that Boop had stuck them in one of Mom's bags, which Mom dismissed as not possible.
The more I looked, the more exasperated and desperate I got. I started working at Boop's level, started crawling around a bit. I pulled out furniture--where I found our pool pass and a few credit cards I had been missing--after I had already gotten a replacement, of course. After giving the living room and den a good look, I ran upstairs, then back downstairs. On to the laundry room and the kitchen. The kitchen. And Boop's little kitchen. I went through her toy bins, pulling out the shelves of her little kitchen, opening the door to the cab... inet. The little cabinet. And there they lay. The long blue ribbon loop and the clump of janitor's keys. Boop no doubt put them there for safe keeping. I couldn't help but smile a shake my head, an expression I saw my dad make a little too often as I was growing up. And all of those hours I wondered if Boop would have some awful genetic disease where she wouldn't be aware of the world around her. And then she has the where-with-all to know that my keys are important and should be kept in a special place. Soon, she'll get much more enjoyment of giving her mother so much grief!
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