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We had gone to the baseball park to enjoy a spring-ish day, and I had sent two kids up to the car on separate occasions to retrieve things that they had left behind (the car in this case was up an ENORMOUS hill and I was monitoring Meg and her newfound skill of riding one of those tiny push cars).  I sent one of the children (both of who will remain nameless) with specific instructions for the keys – how to care for them, what to do with them, how to bring them immediately back to me.  Immediately!!  The second kid I just gave the keys to without a word – maybe because it went so well with the first kid, maybe because the second kid looked responsible, who knows.  

Half an hour went by (maybe more) – it was time for dinner, we rounded the troops, cleaned up the baseball gear, watched Carter go on a death-defying ride down the paved part of the enormous hill on the little ride-on car with his feet up; and then discovered the keys were missing.  

At this point I wasn't sure even where to look – in the car, on the hill back down from the car, where the kids were pitching, where the kids were batting, where the little ones were playing on the ride-ons, in the diaper bag (or where Meg had unloaded the diaper bag along the path), etc.  We prayed and looked and looked and looked and called Owen's mom to tell her sorry he was missing dinner, we had no car to get him home.  Thank goodness he was there, though – because it was Owen who found them at last.  And none too soon – the sun was on its way down (as you can see from the pic I snapped with my phone as we drove gratefully away from the park.)  

I will be taking Owen out for a great big ice cream cone this week.  And I will be the only one in charge of the keys, which will stay zipped in a bag that is too big to loose in the grass.  

The end.