A prayer to Saint Jude

Well, okay, I didn't actually pray to Saint Jude (I'm Jewish). But if I could have, I would have.

For those of you who -- like me -- aren't Catholic, and -- unlike me -- aren't slightly obsessed with Catholic saints, Saint Jude is the patron saint of lost things. Mainly lost causes, but I bet he wouldn't balk at lost cordless phones.

I had a really hectic Mommy day. Joey was home sick, but he wasn't too sick. He was well enough to bug me with constant requests for videos, art supplies, attention. Daniel, the toddler, was crabby, too. One of those days where you count the minutes until your husband gets home. And where was Steve? He was late, and he always calls to let me know. Finally -- desperately -- I pick up the desk phone to call him, only to be greeted by the busy signal. At that moment I suddenly remember that earlier in the day I had -- desperately -- handed over the cordless phone to the toddler to play with. He must have turned it on. So I go upstairs to turn it off . . . and I can't find it anywhere.

When a cordless phone is off the hook you can't page it from the base. Did you know that? Did you?? You can't. So here we were, with a desperate Mommy, Daddy nowhere in sight, and no way to call in or out. That d--n phone could have been stashed away anywhere. Daniel is funny that way. We're always finding pennies in our shoes, forks and spoons in the bathtub, dominoes in the flower pot, toy cars in the linen closet.

To cut a long story short, when Steve got home (we were still looking; he had tried to call) he had a flash of inspiration. "Did you check the laundry tub?" he said. I rushed down to the basement.

There it was.

Steve, honey, you are the answer to my prayers!