I walked out to the garage, tossing some clothes in the washer. As I closed the lid, I heard the familiar flick of the door stop being pushed up, the door being pushed shut...and the "click" of the deadbolt lock switch.
Q. locked me in the garage. A Happy Valentine's Day gift, I'm sure. My spare key was in the house.
"Q., please turn the switch on the door and let Mommy in."
He giggled.
"Q., open the door. Now. Open the door. Mommy needs to get in the house. We have to leave to pick up Six at school."
Another door slammed. He closed the door between the kitchen and dining room so he couldn't hear me. I walked outside to the backyard and peered through the French doors into the dining room. He was laughing and refused to even look my way.
My cell phone happened to be in my coat pocket, a rare occasion. I usually keep it in my purse. I called my husband, who tried to provide as much comfort and counsel as he could. "Pretend your leaving. Open the garage door." This caught Q's attention and made him cry. The door, however, remained closed. Adding further frustration, our house was in complete lock down -- not a window to slide open, no side door ajar. We've had a string of robberies in our hood of late so we've been extra cautious about locking up.
After twenty minutes of trying to convince Q. he could open the door, I gave up. I called my husband back and told him he needed to come home to let me in the house. As I waited for him to arrive, I watched Q. through the old cat door, left by the previous owners. He was sitting at the kitchen table eating a muffin. He'd peek out at me with a smile on his face, "Come in, Mommy! Come back in the house!" The kid was killing me.
I decided I needed to hear a voice that would help me find humor in my rookie parenting move. I called Stefania, who not only helped me laugh but also shared her own "kid locked me out" experience (Thank you!!)
Grammy picked Six up from school for me and we three, along with Luna, stood in the garage waiting for the hubs. Q. would poke his face through the cat door. He continued to smile cheerfully at the attention he was receiving because of his misdeed. Finally, finally, nearly an hour after this entire debacle began, he opened the door. And Q. got the longest time out of his young, nearly three-year-old life. The tears flowed from his large, brown eyes. The pout was pitiful. Like I cared.
Q. has earned the nickname "Sneaky Pete." He puts Curious George and Dennis the Menace to shame. I guess I should be grateful that the puppy was with me and not stuck in the house with Q. They would have been sharing sugar cookies on the floor.
A spare house key is now secure in our garage. Right next to a nice big bottle of Ketel One vodka. If Q. tries to lock me out again, mama's gonna set up shop on the washer and sip a martini. Care to join me?
