Keys

I have a long history of misplacing keys. I think its a genetic trait I inherited from my father. It could also be due to the fact that I didn't grow up with keys. We lived in a small town where no one locked their doors. In fact, we didn't even own a key to our front door. If we went away on a long vacation we locked the door and kept a butter knife hidden above the molding of the door to jimmy open the lock.

I've told my kids there a few occasions when swearing is allowed. Searching for your keys is one of them. Fifteen minutes of peering under cushions, sandboxes, and so on would bring any soul into a fit of "Goddammits (Which by the way, is my favorite Swear word, it just some up a feeling so well)" I know better than to give them to Willa and yet I do it anyway to pacify the screeching. Sylvia is savvy enough to try to thwart my absent minded hand-offs. "Mom, don't give those to Willa!!!" Sylvia at age four can already see where that ill fated move would be headed.

Last weekend I found a key finder at the Bryn Mawr garage sale. It was only 50 cents and worth a try. It is supposed to work like this: When you can't find your keys you simply whistle and the a beeper will sound and you locate them. I gave it a try. I whistled and whistled and the thing wouldn't respond. However, it will respond to Willa's high pitched screeching.

Picture it, we are sitting around at breakfast eating our cheerios. Willa screeches for the bottle of water and the beeper goes off. At this point, we all know where the keys are.

I guess I recommend the key finder for those of you that have wee screeching toddlers about and don't mind the sound of screaming and beeping at the same time. Please, if you find my keys don't hesitate to call. If my pocket starts beeping, you know what that sound is.