Let me paint you a picture…
Yesterday when I picked the boys up from daycare, Jennifer looked at me with sympathy and said “L.A. hasn’t taken a nap today”. Awesome. As we drove him, I glanced in the rear view mirror and saw his eyes rimmed red with exhaustion. Lucky for me, C works late on Thursday nights so I was on my own… and I knew it would be an interesting night. I just had no clue how interesting.
Our house was built in the early 20’s, and one of it’s charms is that it has a detached garage in the back. The only problem is that the garage was built for a Model-T, not an SUV, and once my car is pulled in, I can barely open the passenger side without clipping the wall. As such, when we get home each night, I take L.A. out of the car, bring him inside and then come back out, take P2 out, pull the car in, and then gather the baby and all the accompanying gear and we head into the house.
Last night was the same story. I unlocked the door, brought L.A. in with my purse, left the house keys dangling in the door, and headed back out to get the baby. After I had pulled the car in, I started up the back steps struggling as I wielded the infant carrier, diaper bag and my laptop bag. I reached for the handle on the screen door and tugged at it. It didn’t budge. Oh no.
My mind raced a million miles an hour as I called to L.A. inside. He came sauntering over to the back door and looked at me with a big grin as he confirmed “Mama – door – stuck”. The little stinker had managed to turn the lock on the screen door, and my keys taunted me from the heavy wooden door behind it. I reached for my cell phone only to remember that it was sitting safely inside my purse on the counter. CRUD.
Luckily, at that moment my neighbor walked out of her house and offered her cell phone as I explained our situation. Only me, I thought. I called C and told him what had happened, and he had the clarity to call my mother in law who (thank goodness!) had a key to our front door.
As I waited for her to arrive, I tried to convince L.A. to unlock the door, and he tried… but as easy as it was for him to lock it, he couldn’t figure out the unlocking. I watched helplessly from the screen door as P2 cooed at my feet comfortably snuggled up in his Bundle Me. L.A. was like a dog left loose. He went over to the fridge, yanked on the door and squealed in excitement “cheeeeeese!” as he pulled out the package of string cheese. “I’ll open that cheese if you can come unlock the door” I bribed. He glanced over his shoulder at me uninterested and turned back to the fridge. “ooooh, juice!” he exclaimed as he pulled out the little plastic lemon full of lemon juice. “Oh no, L.A., that’s yucky” I warned. He pretended not to hear me as he cleverly popped the top and started sucking on it. Gross.
Just then my other neighbor happened to come home and came over with her two little guys to try to help us break into my house. We were a spectacle. As she picked away at my lock with a bobby pin, McGyver style, I tried to calm L.A. who was now acutely aware that something wasn’t right. His pleas “Mama, up!” through the door were getting more agitated, and P2 was simultaneously done with sitting in the carseat. I unsnapped him and propped him on my hip as the tension of the situation reached a crescendo.
Just then, over L.A.’s shoulder I saw my mother in law coming into the kitchen. Thank.goodness. All is well that ends well, I suppose, but I will go ahead and put on record that L.A. will be my payback for the misguided choices of my youth. That, I’m certain of.
… and because I’ve blogged a few times without pictures, here’s the little rascal last night. He exudes mischief.
