My Uterus is not a homing device...or my almost adventure as a Charlie's Angel

As a mom and wife, I am expected to know where EVERY possession of every member of the household can be found. Usually, I am pretty good at it. My standard responses to the wail, "where is my xyz?!?!" (in no particular order) are:

1. in your bedroom
2. on your floor
3. in the washer
4. in the dryer
5. in the car
6. Honestly, the last time *I* wore/used/stumbled over it in the middle of the floor your xyz. I put it back. How am *I* supposed to know where *YOUR* stuff is?!?!?!?

Electronics in this house have been the bane of my existence. No, I haven't seen your iPod/cell phone/ear buds/iPod charger/Game Boy/XBox Controller/Double A batteries anywhere!

Last month, I was playing Bunco with the girls when my cell phone rang. The number on caller id popped up as Son #2's phone, so I answered it. It was NOT Son #2 on the other end. The phone had fallen out of his pocket at the Carnival, and it had been found by a stranger who scrolled through the contacts until he got to "Mom." (Let me point out that "DAD" comes before Mom alphabetically speaking, but I was the one who got the call.)

Having never experienced something like this before, I agreed to meet said stranger under the Ferris Wheel. After I hung up, it occurred to me that said stranger could in fact be a homicidal mass axe murderer.

Well, shoot.

I had to get the cell phone back. So, I called Jason, who was at the Carnival with Paige watching the fireworks. He didn't hear his phone. By the time that he did, he was stuck in traffic leaving the fireworks.

So, I had no choice but to go to the Ferris Wheel...and hopefully not get murdered.

Meanwhile, the Bunco Babes are listening to/watching all this transpire. Two Bunco Babes offer to ride with me up to the Carnival to keep me safe. Well, seeing as how I am the biggest chicken this side of the Mississippi, I took them up on their offer. There is strength in numbers, even if one of your sidekicks barely comes up to your chin.

We pull up to the Carnival, park the car, and my phone rings. Son #2's number pops up on caller id again. I answer, and it is actually Son #2. Seems that he finally realized he had no phone. He met up with a Scout Mom who called his phone, and they met the stranger (who obviously was no homicidal axe wielding maniac) and got the phone back.

So much for the three of us getting to be Charlie's Angels.

Maybe next year, though....