...and yet I did not freak out.
You're on your way out of the house, trying to take 2nd-grader to school.
And you cannot find your keys.
Uh-oh. Yep, there it is. That sinking feeling that you know exactly what happened here. Your mind races and you think oh no... I bet - I just bet - that the expletive keys are locked in the expletive car. And you'd be right. They are locked in the car. You can see them. They're on the back seat, wedged between the toddler's child seat and the door. They must have fallen from your purse when you got the child out yesterday evening, and since your spouse was home and the front door was unlocked, you didn't notice.
Under normal circumstances you'd call your mom who has the spare key, but she's on vacation and out of town. So you text your neighbor (she has a new baby and you don't want to call or knock and risk waking the baby) and she calls back (because it's faster than texting). Of course you can borrow her car long enough to take Abby to school. Come on over and she'll give you the keys. And you feel stupid even though you know this sort of thing happens to everyone now and again. But you go over and you get the keys and she reassures you that it's not a big deal. You get Abby to school and call the neighbor from the school parking lot. Does she want a latte or anything? No, she doesn't need one, thanks.
You return the keys and spend the day at home, job hunting online and paying bills and doing laundry and so forth, fixing the toddler exactly what she wants for lunch ("the soft paht of a quesadilla, a stick of stwing cheese, two pickles, and an owange please, with a packet of fwuit snacks foh desseht"), and waiting for your spouse to come home from work so you can take the van to pick Abby up at school and use the key to Grandma's house to get the spare key.
And when you get to Grandma's place? The spare is not there. Expletive expletive expletive. Sigh. You run your other errands, come home, call the roadside assist guys, and get them to send someone out to unlock your expletive car, which takes ninety expletive seconds once the guy is there.
And yet I did not freak out (aside from a few muttered expletives). I'm pretty proud of myself.