Everyone hates Monday morning, but for people who get up and get kids ready for church, you know that Sunday mornings are the worst.
It is always worth the hassle when you finally get to church, but anything crazy that can happen is going to happen on a Sunday morning.
I don’t know why it happens, but it does.
A couple of weeks ago, our family had a not-so-super Sunday morning. My son and I had run an errand late Saturday evening and parked my wife’s car in the garage. For us, Sunday morning is a staggered schedule of my wife leaving early to teach an early Sunday School class and Dawit usually goes with her. Blake goes with me to the later Sunday School time and then we all get together in the late service at our church. When my wife got ready to leave, she couldn’t find her keys anywhere.
I assured her that the keys were, in fact, in the house because I had just driven her car 12 hours before and I got home, so I know the keys got home too. We lost the other set of her keys when moving stuff to the attic about a year ago and I am too cheap to pay for a special key so we have just made the one set work.
It turns out, that decision was unwise.
I told my wife to take my pickup and go on to church. I would find the keys and meet her there later.
I was wrong.
A thorough search of the car, the house, and even digging through both inside and outside trash cans yielded no keys. (What are the chances of your 13-year-old taking the trash out on a Saturday night at 9:30 p.m. on the same day keys are lost? Pretty good, it turns out.)
So after washing the dog food, ketchup and other assorted grossness from the trash off of my hands, I told my son it was time to get up and help me find these keys.
We looked on top of cabinets, under furniture and in drawers and even the freezer — anywhere we could conceivably believe someone could have accidently misplaced these keys. Our search was fruitless.
I finally gave up and called my wife to ask her to come pick us up. Of course, a friend of Dawit’s was with her that morning and we now had to figure out how to get five people in a pickup after church without getting a ticket.
She came to pick us up and was determined that I should drive so she sat next to my son and I started to drive us to church.
It was as frustrated as I have been in a while, but we were going to be on time.
As we left the neighborhood, she stuck her hand in her purse and guess what she found. That’s right. Her keys had been in her purse the entire time.
She had switched purses the night before and was thoughtful enough to remember to put her keys in the new bag. Since she hadn’t used that purse in a while she forgot where she had put them and left me running around like a madman digging in trash cans and crawling around the house for an hour trying to find lost keys that were actually never lost.
She just looked at me and grinned when she found them.
I was happy that I didn’t have to buy another expensive key or figure out how to get it done with the car in the garage. I was almost able to get my blood pressure back to medically acceptable levels before church started. Almost.
I can’t explain why those things are more likely to happen on Sunday morning than any other day, but I know I wasn’t surprised.
Time didn’t really change.
Even though he has been in America for 12 time changes now, Dawit still doesn’t fully understand how it all works.
Monday morning, we were driving to school and playing our daily game of slug bug as we travel past Oklahoma Baptist University and I commented on how nice it was to finally be able to have some daylight to help us see the Volkswagons. Dawit agreed but he got worried about other implications.
“Yeah, but that means I have to be in school an hour longer since it is supposed to be 8:15 right now,” he said with grave concern.
I tried to explain that time is just a manmade construct to divide our days and in reality, time doesn’t exist. Clocks exist, but only to measure predictable intervals to help us make sense of our reality. He didn’t seem to be following that either.
So I just assured him the school still starts at 7:45 a.m. and still ends at 2:45 p.m. But if he wants to play with his friends before dark, he better hurry. That’s the biggest downside of turning back the clocks. I hate when it gets dark before 6 p.m. — even if the workday isn’t really any longer.
— Kent Bush is publisher of Shawnee (Oklahoma) News-Star and can be reached at firstname.lastname@example.org.