Locked and Found

I’m only running in real quick.  I don’t need my phone and keys.

That’s what I said as I pulled into my employer’s New Hampshire office (in sweatpants and a tank top – I typically work from home on Mondays) to pick up a package at the front desk, and then promptly head back to pick up my son from daycare.

With my phone and my keys on my passenger’s seat, I got out of the car, reminded myself not to lock it, and then, out of habit, locked it anyway.

With an estimated hour window for roadside assistance to come help, I would not be making closing time at daycare.

Fortunately, I did this at work. Where I could use a landline, to call my husband and arrange another pick-up plan. Where I could borrow a computer and work through webmail. Where I could comfortably wait for help to arrive.

Unfortunately, I did this all at work – in sweatpants.

 

When I finally arrived at my in-laws to fetch my son (Grandparents really are the greatest blessing), he said:

“Why did you lock your keys in your car?”

“I was trying to do too much at the same time.”

“You have to pay attention, Mum.”

I smiled.  He was right.

On the way home we called his Dad – my husband – to talk about supper. I had a great sauce with sausage that had simmered on the stove all day yesterday, but I would have to stop at the grocery store to get something to go with it…

Until, I remembered to slow down in the center of town.

The Farmer’s Market had been in full swing for weeks, but I hadn’t yet made it up there.

Fresh made ravioli stuffed with roasted eggplant from Hollis, New Hampshire.  Asiago and ricotta from Foxboro, Massachusetts.  Basil from the farm down the street.

Dinner was served.  A beautiful walk with my son in an open market was had.  And a key was found.

key

 

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