That's when we figured out that Urban Kid 2 loves to close doors. Ok, the fact that she goes into the upstair bathroom and closes the door added to that. And then we hear this cry from inside the bathroom and wonder, "what the...?" to find that she can't figure out how to get herself out of this pickle. Little does she know how much her mom loves to go into that bathroom alone and close the door, how much she relishes actually going into the bathroom without an audience. Oh wait, I digress. Really, I'm going somewhere with this. I'm back on track now. Honest.
This is a story from a week or so ago. It was a Saturday morning. U-Dad needed to go to a local Caribou Coffee to grade one last round of essays, so off he went. I had the two U-Kids, plus a bunch of laundry to start, so I hustled the U-Kids downstairs so that they could play and I could get started.
Important part of the story here...I'm in a robe. Under the robe, a tank top and skivvies. Yeah, it's oversharing, but you'll get where I'm going with this. Honest.
So the layout of it all...
Here's a view from our downstairs playroom/schoolroom/guestroom/computer room to the door to the laundry room:
When that door is open so that Mommy, in her robe with her not-much underneath can go back and forth between doing laundry and tending to her darling angels:
Come further into the laundry room with me, won't you? What the heck. You've come this far. Have a look around (by the way, the shirts are Mike The Landlord's).
When all is well and perfect for my robe-clad self and my two adorable darlings, you would turn around from here and see this:
And bless her little heart if my perfect eldest cherub didn't want to join me in the laundry room to see if she could help. She kinda digs sitting on the dryer and watching things fall into the washing machine. So in she comes.
You'll never guess what we heard next. Oh, you did guess. Then go ahead and say it with me now...
We turned around to see this:
Huh. Well that's no big deal, we'll just open this and, oh wait, U-Kid 1 and saw this:
Urban Kid 2 had closed the door. And it is (ok, was) always locked.
Remember the details here... a 17-month-old is by herself on the other side. (isthebabygateup??) So is my cell phone. (isthebabygateup??) My 4 1/2 year old and I are on this side. I'm in a robe because what I'm wearing under it is utterly inappropriate for anywhere but the laundry room on a Saturday morning. And Thank God it was a little chilly that morning, so that I actually put on the robe. The U-Dad left half an hour ago. And Mike The Landlord is a real estate agent, so let's see, what are the odds of him being around on a Saturday? (isthebabygateup?)
I attempt to not show my panic to UK1 as I contemplate where the hell I'm going to go for help if, indeed, Mike is not home.
UK1 and I head this way:
And then this way, up to the top floor to see if Mike is home:
I think I hear noise from upstairs, and as I share my hopes with UK1, we're half-way up to Mike's door when...
our back door to our kitchen opens!!!!
Urban Dad is standing there...on the phone....
You guys locked out???
I am not sure if I have ever in all of my life been so glad that he was there. Ok, the time that I was in full-blown labor and the nurse at the hospital announced that it would be a 40-minute wait for anesthesiology and he went all caveman, thus getting me drugs about 5 minutes later -- that ranks high too. But yeah, wow, was I glad to see him!
The phone had rung as he was about to leave. He feels a need that I do not to answer all ringing phones. And this particular call went on much, much longer than he ever thought possible. (thank you former student with the crazy life!)
I showed my infinite gratitude by rushing past him, through the kitchen, down the hall, through the living room and down the stairs to:
1. find that the baby-gate was indeed up and
2. that UK2 was happily playing and was perfectly safe
3. unlock that *&%#-ing door.
U-Dad and I continue to contemplate the best hiding place for a spare key.