Mischief

I had a few hours of work I needed to do at home today. I went upstairs to get by fob for work, that has the token I need for remote access, but it wasn't on my chest of drawers. "I worked from home Monday morning", I thought, "it must be downstairs. "

I looked everywhere but couldn't find anything. Jack's trying to help me. Jack's version of help is letting Daddy carry him around while Daddy walks around the house, not on the mantle, not on the cusions, oh, there's Jack's ball, not in the tv room, not under the couch, there's Terra's phone though . . . it's no where. nothing. Think, Mike, think. I was getting ready for work one morning this week, I grabbed my billfold, keys, and phone from the dresser, and clink, the keys fell on the floor.

My little helper and I walked back upstairs, except now he wants to get down and play. The keys aren't anywhere in the bedroom, but Jack has found the trash can and thrown one of his toys in there, "You're not getting that thing back, Jack. That's gross!" Back downstairs, I can get a new fob, I'll go into work if that's what needs to happen . . .

Later, we're all upstairs and I recall the time Terra threw my keys in the trash can. Then a quick flash back to the toy jack threw in the trash can. Oh, no. This trash can has Jack's dirty diapers in it. Sure, it was emptied a few days ago, but Jack's a healthy boy, and there's nothing worse than poopy diaper smell . . . I pulled the trash bag out, and sealed it shut as fast as I could. A waft of something gross hit my nostris, and I shook it, like Santa Claus might shake his bag full of toys. There's something that sounds like the clinking of keys. I feel around and there it is, my keys! I opened the bag, holding my breath, and there they were.

Next time, I won't be so lazy when I drop the keys on the floor.