Did you wash the window screens?

The other day, I looked out the window and realized that I could actually SEE out the window.

"Baby, did you clean the window screens"

(long pause) "Um, no." *blink* "Why? Why would I do that? I didn't do that." But of course, the real question that I could see on his panicked face was: "Oh shit.....Was I supposed to do that?"

Either way, they look much better, or I am finally taking the right dose of Xanax.

This morning was a beautiful morning, and I decided to take the kids to the beach. I packed up the cooler, got the towels off the line, found swim suits, applied sunblock, and headed out, grabbing the keys off the hook as I went out the......wait. Where are the keys? Fuck. Fuckityfuckfuck. So I put down the bag and the cooler. I walk to the edge of the deck and shout down to Max "Hey, do you have the keys?"

"Um, no." *blink* Why do men look at me like that when I ask them a question?

So I go back inside and start rooting around - looking through pockets and purses, inside closets and on high shelves. Under the pile of clean laundry, in the top drawer, on the table, under the table.....no keys.

I call Sami.

"Where are the keys?"

"On the hook."

"No. No they're not. OK, I gotta go find them." I hang up and the phone rings immediately.

"In my top drawer," he proclaims, triumphant. "Nope." "In my cooler?" "Nope." "In the shed?" "Nope. Listen, I have to go find them, the kids are waiting."

I continue my search. I alert my friends that I will not be at the beach, or yoga. I am not happy.

Eventually, the kids give up, and come back inside and turn on The Muppet Show. While they watch Diana Ross strut around in some silver jumpsuit thing that looks like a weather balloon talking about how "I Don't Want It" I retrace my steps. I give up. I don't want it either.

And then, I have a terrible feeling. An awful feeling. I look at the beach bag, sitting by the door. I empty it onto the floor. And there are the keys. Right there. In the bag. Where I put them.

"Hey kids I found the keys!"

"Where WERE they?" Max is pissed.

"Um, I found them on the floor. Let's go to the beach!"

"WHERE on the floor."

"Oh, uh, somewhere. On the floor over there." I gesture vaguely.

So we get in the car and go to the beach. We sit down, we hang out, we clean up, we walk back to the car.....and I reach for the keys. They're gone.

Fuck.

I leave the kids by the car. I walk back to the beach. I search, but the tide is coming in, and my spot is now underwater and if I had dropped anything there, it was long gone. So I retrace my steps, searching, looking, trying not to panic.

And when I get back to the car, I have a terrible feeling. An awful feeling. I look at the beach chair, folded up and leaning against the bumper. I walk up, bend over and unzip the back pocket, and pull out the keys.

The other mothers look at me sadly. "Poor thing" I am sure they are thinking. "She's completely lost her mind."