Lost

I wish I were writing a post about "Lost" the show. Too bad it didn't turn out as cool as I hoped in the end. Or I might have something brilliant to say about it.

No, the thing I have lost is my mind. It all started this summer. Maybe it was because we moved into a new house. Maybe it was because all 3 children were home. Maybe it's because I have a baby that still makes me sleep deprived. Or it could be because my husband and I were apart for nearly two months this summer, with one of us always being out of town. In actuality, it's probably a combination of the three.
Here's a list to show you how bad it's been:

• Lost Keys I: I went to the commissary with all three kids one of the times Joe was out of town. Three kids, one adult: those are bad odds. I usually forget half of the things I need to buy, even with a list. I leave the store feeling flustered, desperately bribing my kids with any candy in sight by the end. We get out to the car with the bagger (at the commissary, a bagger helps you out with your groceries, and you tip them), and my keys are nowhere in my bag. All of the kids are screaming, I'm scrambling, while the bagger stares at me, waiting. Suddenly, his cell phone rings. He says they found my keys. I had left them at the register. He kindly runs back in and fetches them for me, so I don't have to drag the kids back in. I give him a five dollar tip, which is very generous for me.

• Lost Keys II: This is another time Joe was gone. Are you seeing a trend? When the husband leaves, so does my mind. I lost my keys, again. I could find them nowhere. Joe didn't leave his set behind (which he started to do after this trip), and I was stranded with the kids. I looked for five hours, all to no avail. I went to bed that night, panicking: "What am I going to do? My husband's gone for ten days and I have no car keys!" The next morning, I decided to look in our green reclining chair one more time. This time, I ripped off the velcro section on the back. There, caught in the wooden frame of the chair, were the keys. I was saved.
  

• Another grocery store story. This time Joe was home. I went the store with Dottie only. I wanted to go by myself, but I didn't get a chance until she was home from school. Dottie, bless her, had her talker on the whole time I was shopping. I couldn't concentrate on what I was looking for, so I kept on having to make repeat trips to the same aisles. And I was tired. So we get home, and I can't find my cell phone. I didn't recall having it in my hand when I left the store, and it wasn't in the car when I looked there. So I sent Joe back to the store to look for it. It was nowhere. Luckily, it didn't take me too long this time to find. Later on that night, I remembered I had put the phone in the side pocket of Dottie's book bag (we went shopping directly after she was done with school; the school's across the street from the commissary).

• I saved the worst for last. This is also a "Joe's gone, I lose my mind" story. This was the same time as the "Lost Keys II," early July. I took the kids to the library on base, checked out a few books and a few movies. For myself, I checked out a BBC series called "The Irish R.M." (not Return Missionary, Mormons). I was looking forward to unwinding to people in Ireland doing Irish things with their Irish accents while my kids were asleep and my husband was away. It's a rare occasion where I get the TV to myself, and BBC productions are pretty much a no-go in Joe's discriminating television tastes. I didn't get to watch the show that evening. When I went to get it the next night, it was nowhere to be found. I waited the 10 days until Joe was home, and we looked some more. I was now going to be leaving soon for Pennsylvania, and I still couldn't find that dang Irish series. I doubled my efforts, searching the house for a few hours. Before I left, I renewed the series at the library. Luckily, the base library has no late fees. However, if you haven't turned in items for a few months, the librarians get persnickety. They contact your superiors, and your pay check can even be held until the item is either returned or replaced.
  

On my list of things for Joe to do while I was gone, in bold at the top was "FIND THE IRISH R.M.!" But did he find it? No. He looked and looked, for hours, just as I had. We were starting to think that it either fell out of the car somewhere at sometime, or one of the kids had put it in the garbage. When I got home from the reunion trip, the persnickety librarians started to contact us. First step, mean emails to Joe. I renewed my searching efforts. Nothing. We found out that you need to buy a copy to replace whatever was lost. So we looked on the internet. Apparently, the Irish R.M. isn't a hot commodity anymore. It's no longer in print, in fact. So, for a used copy of the series, it would cost $150. For a new copy, $500. Either way, that is way too much money for something I checked out of the library.

I went to the library a few times to discuss my options. I proposed that I pay the library the price that they purchased it for. However, they weren't even sure where they got it from. It was probably a donation. The librarian who could answer what to do was never there. I tried calling her several times, and I got nowhere with them. Finally, this week, someone calls me. The woman who normally handles missing items hands the phone over to the head librarian, because of the "cost of this item." I knew that was a bad sign.

The head librarian proceeds to tell me that library policy is to replace a missing item with a new item, not a used one. So instead of $150 for the set, it would cost us $500. I was dumbfounded. How could they do this to us? Why would they be lending out something that cost $500? The librarian told me she'd give me a week to search my house (as if it were that simple; I had been doing that for weeks!), and that she'd contact me in a week to discuss the next step. I called Joe, sobbing. I didn't know what to do. We'd looked and looked. How could they be so mean?

I was dreading this battle with the library. This weekend, I've been half-heartedly repeating my search, knowing that nothing would show up. We even fasted and prayed this Sunday that we would find the discs. When we got home from church, I went upstairs to read my scriptures, and Joe starts yelling, "I found the DVDs! I found the DVDs!" It was in our giant CD case. One of the kids (no one will admit to it) had stuck them in the case. It was a miracle. No more $500 down the drain!

All for a series I found out I could watch on Netflix Instantplay.

So the moral of these stories? My husband should never go away, and I should never go shopping alone with children.

Dottie and Elliot. Dottie's holding the Irish R.M. in her hand.


The lost DVD set. Never check this out of the library.