Baker and the Keys

"Hi, this is Emily...Yes, I'm fine, but I'm going to be late...Why? Well, my child hid my car keys, and since we live in a bilingual household, where he speaks one language Dave and I speak another, he couldn't tell me where they were."

I made this frantic phone call to my school's assistant principal a couple of weeks ago. As a mother, I have learned many lessons that I had never before considered. Bathroom doors have to stay shut, or a pacifier might get flushed. Twenty one month olds believe that goldfish crackers, even the ones found under the dog bowl, are always fair game. It is a bad idea to tickle an infant when he doesn't have a diaper on. It is a bad idea to have an infant without a diaper on, period.

Add to that list; never, ever, ever place a purse within the reach of a toddler. To a toddler, a purse is a wonderland of new objects just awaiting exploration. By exploration, I mean shaking, eating, throwing, and, two Mondays ago, hiding.

I'm always running late. I'm certain that this is a genetic trait, because my mother is always running late as well. Try as I might, being on time is not in the cards for me, so the morning that I added the detective hat to my collection, it did not come as a shock that I was rushing around. I scooped Baker up from the floor where he had been playing, grabbed my purse from the chair, where I placed it the night before and rushed to the car.

After some convincing, I got my baby alligator strapped into his car seat, and I got into the driver's seat. As I do, every morning, I reached into my purse and fumbled around for my school keys and my car keys. School keys, check! Car keys...car keys?...car keys????

I glanced back at Baker, who was happily watching his dvd player (an awesome purchase for car trips and mornings with a cranky baby) and decided to run in to grab my keys.

"I must have left them on the desk by the front door," I said to myself. Yes, out loud. Yes, I talk to myself, out loud, frequently. And I answer myself, too. And sometimes I even tell myself to shut up.

Unfortunately, my keys were not on the desk. They were also not on the island. I decided I had to think like an Emily, which is not always easy. Naturally, I checked the refrigerator...by the milk...near the eggs...in the crisper. No luck. In the pantry? Washer? Dryer?

Mom of the year then remembered that Baker was still in the car (don't worry, the driver door was open, the garage was closed, and the car wasn't running because, well...duh). When I was racing back to the car I noticed something on the floor that should have been in my purse. It was my makeup bag. Ah ha! Baker took my keys! This was a bitter sweet realization. Sweet, because I knew what happened to them. Bitter, because now I really didn’t know where they were.

Unstrapping him from his car seat, I began interrogating my son in the most friendly voice that I could muster. "Baker, where are mommy's keys? Come help me find my keys."

Baker happily toddled back inside, as toddlers do. "Baker, where are my keys?" I asked again. It did not take long to realize that "keys" were not on Baker's word list, yet. He held out his pacifier and grunted with a slightly higher pitch at the end, as though asking, "This?"

"No, no, Baby. Keys. Where are my keys?"

"Ugh???" He held out the banana he clutched in his fist.

"No, keys."

"Ugh???" He held up his sippy cup that was tucked beneath his arm.

"Not the sippy, Baker. The keys? Do you know where mommy's keys are?" I asked, searching on my hands and knees for any place that Baker might have selected for this morning's adventure.

"BALL!" Baker screamed, holding up one of the many plastic rainbow balls scattered across our living room floor. I no longer live in an adult home. I live in an at-home version of Chuck E. Cheese's.

"Yep! That's a ball, but it's not my keys! Come help mommy find my keys."

Baker, at this point, was at a loss. Though he lacked the verbal communication, his face said, "Well, Mom, if you don't want a pacifier, sippy cup, or ball, then you’re on your own, lady!" He wandered around the room making his questioning grunt sound with his arms out to his side, palms up, mimicking the crazy lady who was crawling on the floor.

Baker picked up his hot wheels car and barked, "CAR!" signaling that he was so over hide-and-seek and was ready to move on.

"Well, yes, the keys are for the car, but...wait!" I crawled over to his Lightning McQueen race car, one of those large plastic toys with wheels that a child can sit on and ride across the floor. Lightning McQueen comes equipped with a "handy lift up seat compartment, perfect for storage." Perfect for storage, alright. I lifted the seat, expecting to find my keys. Instead, I saw a plastic pitcher that one might use for punch or juice. I say, might, because one might also use it to distract her child by placing plastic rainbow balls in it and shaking it around, which is why this pitcher was filled with such items.

I spoke again, but this time, it was not to myself or to Baker. "God PLEASE let me find my keys!"

I chucked the pitcher from the “handy compartment”, and when it landed, I heard a distinct jingle. I did not crawl over to where the pitcher landed. Nor did I walk. Instead, in dramatic desperation, I outstretched my entire body across the living room floor to empty the contents of the pitcher, which included a yellow ball, a purple ball, three goldfish crackers, a tampon (which I assume also came from my purse), and my KEYS!!!

Still sprawled on my stomach, turning to Baker, I held up my trophy and said, very clearly, "KEYS!"

And he laughed. He laughed at me with this knowing chuckle, as though he had known where the keys were all along. As though this was greatly entertaining and perfectly satisfying to him.

The story doesn't end there.

The next day, as we left...late again...I walked to the garage with Baker sitting on one forearm and my purse rested on the other, my keys perched on top. Something in my purse caught Baker's eye, and before I could look down to see what it was, my son had already snatched it up.

He dangled the item in front of my eyes, smiled a great big smile, and said, in what I am positive was a smart butt tone, "Keeeeeeeyyyysss???"

Yeah, Baker...thanks.