The phone rang at 9 a.m. I expected the usual cheery "We're on our way," meaning Abby and the kids would be trooping in the back door within 10 minutes. Instead, I heard, "Uh, oh, n-o-o-o, ooh, maybe there's hope, I hope, I hope, please, please, uh, mmf, ungh." And then, "Dad's gonna kill me." Whew. That's when I knew they were okay, not being attacked by aliens or overcome by toxic fumes or....
"What's up?" I said, trying to sound more caring than I usually can manage before about noon. Eventually she choked out the fact that she couldn't find her house and car keys because she had locked them in the glove box of her hubby's car, which was long gone to his teaching job on the opposite end of the metro area. (While talking to me she was frantically digging through various places where she thought she might find a spare key, and having exhausted the possibilities, she faced defeat.)
Thing is, this problem is solved with relative ease: Pa drives 1.7 miles to her house (with his house key so they can lock up), brings them to our house, and she takes Pa's car to work. After school her hubby picks up the three of them and takes them home. It's not that complicated; seems to me we've done it before. But for some reason it really had her going!
This woman is so strong and level-headed and confident, and fierce (in a good way) and so good at multi-tasking, you would feel completely at ease having her take charge in any emergency. Except, apparently, when she loses her keys just before leaving for work. We all have our moments, don't we?