Ever play that game at your house? Where's my keys, didn't you have my keys, where did you see my keys ... I've tried every method I could think of, but somehow we still can't keep track of all the keys at our house. I have a little basket that I keep on the kitchen counter and that's where we all dump our keys as soon as we come in the house. Theoretically at any rate. I put the basket there because it was a normal spot for the keys to land. The four oldest of us have a house key, and a van key. Of course, the van is up for sale right now and no one's driving it so a lot of good that does us. On the other hand, I've noticed that none of us have lost our van key lately either.
We each also have a key to whatever vehicle we usually drive. Then the spare keys are supposed to go in the basket. So if my son, Matt, has to move my car in the morning, he doesn't have to hunt for my huge wad of keys. He can just grab the spare out of the basket. And then hopefully return the spare when he's done moving my car. That's the way it's supposed to work, but it doesn't always. The other morning he woke me with profuse apologies, but he needed the keys to the car and couldn't find them anywhere.
My husband is just as bad. Actually, he's worse. His keys may end up in the basket, or they may land on his dresser. But if he stops anywhere else in the house, the keys are just as likely to show up there. Or they may even end up on the floorboard of the car itself. (I keep reminding him we don't live in Alabama anymore, but it hasn't sunk in yet.) Before we had the basket, Terry's keys could end up almost anywhere. He'd get ready for work in the morning and couldn't find his keys. He'd get so angry and was sure that I had moved them someplace. He'd tear through the house looking for them, and I'd pretend to look. I pretended because I knew where they really were. Nine times out of ten in these situations, he had already pocketed the keys and forgot they were there. So we'd look for them until all of a sudden, he'd call, "I found them!" Then I'd hear the front door slam as he hurried away. Not one to let a little thing like that go, I'd race through the house and catch him before he got to his vehicle.
"Where were they?" I was all innocence as I'd ask the question.
"In my pocket." His reluctant reply.
This happens less often since I got the basket, but occasionally we have a replay. The last time was this Sunday morning. Being the pastor, Terry gets up early and heads to the church. This past Sunday he woke me up to ask if I knew where the keys were to the church car. I don't carry a set of those keys, and if I have to drive that car I usually get the keys from him. I answered sleepily that I had no idea. As I was drifting back to sleep I heard him say, "Oh! Here they are."
I raised my head off the pillow. "Where were they?"
"In my pocket. Go back to sleep."
I guess I shouldn't complain too much. The last time I cleaned out my purse I found my car key and my spare, plus both keys to the truck. Maybe I need a bigger basket. Or a bigger purse ...