Mornings with the kids

Everyone was ready and we were walking out the door. The girls headed out the door first, while Jory left to go open the gate. I reached for my keys on the table, but they weren’t there. I checked my purse, they weren’t there. Hmm, that’s odd. I perused all the usual spots for my keys, no dice. I went to the car and asked the kids if they had seen the keys. “No!” was the answer that greeted me. Back inside the house I went to search some more. This was so odd. I heard them in my purse last night when my mom asked me about them. I dumped my purse, but no nada. Crap! I called Jory inside to help me, search for my keys. I couldn’t remember moving them off the table, but maybe they had been in my jeans’ pockets and I didn’t remember putting them there. That was perfectly reasonable. Nope, they weren’t there. I went outside and brought the girls inside. It was now time for a full family hunt for the keys. We hunted and hunted. I called my boss and told her I would be in as soon as I found them. She laughed and said okay. After nearly an hour of searching, I called off the search to take a breather and to feed people breakfast. “I don’t want Corn Flakes, I want Cheerios.” “I don’t want Cheerios, I want Honey Bunches of Oats.” “I want oatmeal.” Did they think they lived in a restaurant with a short order cook? “You’re having whatever is in this container with the blue top.” Could they not see Mommy was not in the mood to play games. “It’s Corn Flakes,” Jory informed me. “Corn Flakes it is.” They ate. I prayed, took a moment, watched some videos, ate, then went back at it. I tore apart to the living room, my room. I had the kids check their rooms and double check the rooms I had checked. Jory went through the car though I knew it was humanly impossible for them to be in the car since I had unlocked the door the night before to get in the house. On and on it went. Frustratingly slow. With little girls playing while they are suppose to be checking their toy boxes, where Oma’s keys were found. Said girls got busted and separated. The cycle continued, the same rooms were destroyed, put back together, then it started again. Three hours of this. Three hours. I sent Jory into the girls room to search behind them again. He searched their nightstand and there were the keys. Why do I have girls again? Thank you God for giving me a boy first because if the Irish twins had been my one, two punch, there would have been no three. The parenting train would have stopped with them.