Attack of the Mom Purse!

This morning, as I approached my office door, I began rifling around my purse for my keys. As I dug, going totally by feel as I kept my eyes ahead of me, I poked myself with a water gun, got stuck in a baggie of water balloons, mushed against a open box of Goobers, crumpled up a paper airplane, drew blood off the six rusty bottle caps (for the collection), and unwittingly opened a bag of totally crushed Shredded Wheat squares. I finally found my keys in the farthest corner, almost cowering, along with my wallet, cell phone and lipstick (a little rough for the wear, having been recently usurped for war paint), the sole vestiges of a purse that was once mine.

I have fallen victim of the Mom Purse. I am loathe to feel encumbered by extra bags and packs and gear, so I cram everything—everything—into my purse. The day I arrived at work with Eliot’s wet swimming trunks and a bottle of sunscreen still in my bag, I vowed to downsize, hoping that it would curb my cramming. Which it has. It has not, however, proven the least helpful in finding my keys. What are some of the craziest things you have had in your Mom Purse? Do I dare ask what lurks there now?


  1. Greta's underwear. Found as I was grabbing my wallet to go for coffee with my new boss.

    But I also routinely carry my daily breakfast smoothie in my purse. I put it in an IKEA kids to go cup, with a straw. It sounds ridiculous I know, but I have a little side pocket that I keep my smoothie in and it holds it upright as I walk to the bus, sit on the bus, then walk to my office. So far, no major upsets, just minor little spills that I can quickly wipe up. But what a disaster if I end up with an entire blueberry soy smoothie all over the insides of my purse! Still, I keep doing it. Every day.

  2. Ha! This weekend I bravely carried Eliot's pet water balloon (whom he named Cherry Blossom) in the cell phone pocket of my purse. It was like a baby's sling, the way ol' Cherry Blossom was nestled in there!

  3. "cowering" keys... amen to that, sister. maude i love you. you are one hell of a good chronicler of being a mom.

  4. Recently, I reached into my wallet to pay for a coffee and pulled out pretend money that my son had put in there. I guess he didn't want to me to run short.