Thursday, January 7, 2010

The Incident

Cold, cold day. Warmed up the van. Ready for my first trip to the gym of the New Year. Go me! 2010 here I come! Just showered and ready to sweat. I tell the girls to head out to the van. Quickly grab my waterbottle and diaperbag and lock the door.

Get to the van. It's cold. Brrr. Can't wait for a warm car. Anna and Naomi are standing by the van waiting to get in. Good girls. Oops, one missing. Little stinker. Where is she? Uh oh, must have lost her between the house and the van. Not a far journey but she can be quite the wanderer. As I approach the door, I hear loud crying. Oops, she must be inside. Poor girl, thinks she got left. Mommy never leaves, just may temporarily misplace. Someday she'll learn (Abby, not mom- unfortunately mommy is quite impaired in learning such things)

Open the sun porch, still crying, only louder. Good thing it has only been about 90 seconds max. I'm pretty sure there is a minimum trauma threshold that must be reached before it actually starts internal scarring. I figured I still had a few seconds to spare.

I talk to Abby, assure her I would never leave without her and that it would take me just a second to open the door. I go to unlock the door but it doesn't open. Stupid key. Stupid door. Try again. Still no go. Major uh, oh!

Uh-Oh because the only other lock on this door is an ancient skeleton keyhole whose counterparts only exist in quantities of ONE. That ONE being in the keyhole on the other side of the door! Abby must have turned it, trying to get herself out. It's okay, remember I still have time until scarring becomes permanent. TGIF&CP (Thank God for Fridays and Cell Phones).

I drag the other two out of the car while assessing the situation. Front Door - locked. Screendoor- two locks. Basement door- locked. Door to basement from inside- locked Windows- locked. I think you get the picture. I am overly paranoid.

I leave the Sunporch with Anna and Naomi mostly freezing in the 40 degree room with Abby playing happily on the other side of the door in 74 degree weather. I venture out into the teen degree weather (with wet hair mind you which has now in fact frozen in chunks) to search the garage for keys. This is my husband's organization system. Put everything in bags and place them all over and move them repeatedly so one has no idea where anything is. Found a bag, oh, that is empty. Found another bag- who needs this many screws anyway! Frustration mounting, Hair forming icicles, Hands falling off. Yeah, found a bag with keys- three of them, one skelaton, two others. Walk around the house trying to test keys in doors with no success. Husband, not knowing who he is talking to apparently, wants me to go kick in the basement door, which is locked with a dead bolt mind you. I try and of course fail. Even though I kind of wanted to fail because who wants to replace that door and who would be around to take me to the ER if needed?

I realize I have three choices: (1) perish in the cold with only two of my children (2) admit defeat and call a locksmith (which in turn means waiting several hours on "Locksmith time" for someone to come, charge me out to wazoo, and take an eternity to duplicate a key made about 100 years ago) or (3) break into my own house.

Now as some of you may know, my house was recently broken into just a few short months ago, so I choose the latter. The method is tried and true.

I call my Stepdad to be coached on how best to break a window. What tool do you use? What side do you hit? How many times? You know, I wonder if these questions went through the mind our recent burglar. I quickly dismiss the perposterous idea of our criminal being in the least bit intelligent since we were actually HOME when he broke in.

Do you know what I discovered? I am good at it! In case you were wondering, it just takes one small tap of the hammer right down the center. I even talked on the phone for part of it. (And I am not usually a multi-tasker!) I forsee great things. So if you ever lock your daughter in your house, I am your woman.

Once broken, the door was easily unlocked by adult hands and ah, we enter warmth (minus the several degrees lost to the broken window).

I learned two things: one... I have a wonderful daughter who was rather obedient, listening to my every instruction from" play with toys only by the door" to "go sit on Anna's bed because Mommy wants to break a window" when she could have been ruling the house and two...if anyone wants to break into our house, apparently, you are welcome to. Both times our windows were broken no one so much as flinched or reported suspicious activity. Yes, we are moving!