Don't ever lose your keys again

Have you seen one of these before?

It's called a caribiner and mountain climbers used them to make the ropes keep them on the mountain. I use mine to stop my stomach from plummetting to my feet when I reach my car door with a cart full of groceries and can't find my keys.

This little baby has a ring on one side and then a mountain climbing clip on the other side that opens on a spring and attaches easily to pretty much anything. Voila--your keys stay put. I clip my caribiner onto the strap of my diaper bag. or my stroller, or even my belt loop. Fashionable, I know, but I'd much rather look like a dork than be locked out of my house. (And just because it happened once doesn't mean my WFMW isn't valid. Today was a fluke, people.)

Updated to add: I got mine at DollarTree.

I'm flighty and decided to start blogging again

I'm not going to bore you with the details of "we went here and did this" for the last months of my life that I haven't been writing about. Well, that I have been writing about, but not posting about because all the writing seems to be in my head and I can't seem to get things down to my fingers and onto the computer screen.

Suffice it to say that we've moved out of our in laws house again with the solemn promise that We. Will. Never. Move. Back. In. (And you all are in charge of holding me to that promise when I'm facing a studio apartment with a 900 dollar a month price tag).

And I locked all three of us out of the house for the first time since I was thirteen. Luckily we were all together and it was a beautiful day. So the girls and I wandered through neighborhood, waving at neighbors who remember us but (and I do think this is rude) continued to have their own lives while we were gone. And (now this is the really rude part) most of them kind of forgot about us. Which hurts.

I thought that moving back would solve all my problems. But things are about the same. And I still have most of the songs from Charlotte's Web running through my mind on constant repeat. But, at least Tim could come home and unlock the front door for me. And my mother-in-law doesn't have to give me the look that says "Are you really old enough to have children, dear? Keys are so easy to keep track of."