I'm Losing It

This morning, on the way to take Avery to school, I realized I had forgotten my cell phone. I looked in my purse to double check and even let Avery have a turn at looking. Nope. Not there. "Oh well," I told Avery,"It's probably just charging at home. No biggie." After all, I can live a day without my cell phone. It's not like I have to talk while I'm driving. In fact, I shouldn't, especially with my kids in the car. This is a good thing.
And then it starts to ring. Actually, I thought I heard it ringing at one point, but convinced myself that it was just the radio because I currently have "Ring of Fire" by Johnny Cash as my ring tone and it's hard to tell if it's my phone or just someone talking. Then, I heard the very distinctive "you have a message" tune. There is no mistaking that because it sounds very Oriental and I have nothing else that makes that sound.
So I check my purse again. Not there. I check the diaper bag. Nope. It's time for my Pilates class at the gym so I have to let it go for a bit. I have to force myself out of the car because my obsessive-compulsive nature wants to find the phone. NOW. I hate, absolutely HATE, to lose things. I have a spot for everything and it frustrates me to no end when it isn't there. But I let it go. It's always someone else's fault too, because I always put things where they go. (Does sarcasm show up on your computer?)
After class, I buckle Reese and Rhett into the car and begin my search. Glove compartment, under the seats, in the very back where the groceries go. In the kids' car seats, under the kids' car seats. Inside the doors, in the pockets on the back of the seats. EVERYWHERE. It isn't there. And then it rings again. I will go crazy if I don't find it. I can't tolerate hearing it ring and not being able to find it. I begin to sweat. And feel the irritation creeping.
I try to follow the ring and just as I get close, it stops. I see the box. The carboard, heavily taped package I'm about to take to the UPS store. Those dadgum kids. They've put the phone in the package and then I taped it. Now I have to rip it open. Dadgum kids.
I rip all the tape off the bottom of the box. I take everything out of the box and search every square inch of the box and it's contents. Not there.
I am losing it. I'm seriously losing it. I have to let it go. I have a day's worth of errands to run and two kids who are hungry. I have to go.
And it rings again. I'm driving and I can't search, but I feel like I might cry. Not because I'm sad I've lost my phone, but because I'm frustrated and the damn phone is taunting me!!!
I get to the store and take a deep breath. The store with kids is never easy and I'm already frustrated. Rhett starts to cry. He doesn't have his pacifier. It must have been dropped at the gym. Ohpleaseohpleaseohplease let me have one in my purse. I dig. And dig. And dig. It's not in any of the pockets. And then I see the outside pocket of my new snazzy purse. I forgot about that pocket. Maybe I stuck his paci in there. I reach in. No paci. But guess what?
Yep, the cell phone. I remember now, buying the purse and thinking "Oh, look at that handy little pocket on the side. That's just perfect for my cell phone because I won't have to dig when it rings." Dammit.