Remember That Time I Locked C and Myself Out Of The House?

Oh yes, yes I do. I remember it as if it were yesterday Tuesday. If you're not catching on, I really did lock C and myself out of our house on Tuesday. For over an hour. Thankfully it was a gorgeous seventy-six degrees. Unfortunately, I was wearing my Mom Uniform and had Crazy Hair. Here's how it went down.

C and I walked out into the backyard through our french doors in the basement. The kind of french doors that have a door knob and a dead bolt lock. Let me preface this by saying that we never leave the house through the basement but had been previously running amok through the basement playroom so in truth, it was the easiest and quickest way outside for the impromptu photo sesh I was about to bust out. 

I mean, C's colors are obviously green and navy and I practically jumped at the chance to put him in long sleeves and drag him outside to play. I just couldn't pass the opportunity up. So? Out into the backyard we go. 

Snap-happy and shooting away, I'm chasing C around the backyard. He's running laps up and down the lawn and playing on the Creepy Life Size Doll House that resides in our backyard. I shouldn't need to add that it came with the house. Nor should I need to add that I have dreams of burning that sucker down on a weekly basis.   

After roughly thirty minutes passes, I decide it's time to head inside. I corral C and head towards the basement door. You know the one I'm talking about. The one with the locked doorknob. And unlocked deadbolt. What the eff. 

Okay, fine. There are, like, three other entryways into our house. Let's try the sliding door on the deck. The one that hasn't been used in a week. Nope, locked. 

Okay, let's try the garage door. The garage door that's been on the fritz and has been in both automatic and manual mode more times than I can imagine in one week. Of course it's on automatic mode. And locked. It doesn't even matter that my car is unlocked because the little garage door opener thingy that it came with needs to be reset. You know, since the Fritzy Garage Door has been all sorts of wonky lately. 

And well, despite knowing that the front door is locked because I can hear the "click" of the lock setting in as I closed the door after unloading groceries earlier that day, I trudge toward it with C on my hip. Locked. 

Fuck. No phone. No iPad. But? MyErinCondrenLifePlannerisHere! Hooray! I don't even have pens to write with in it. And my phone? Nope. Can't even take a picture of it to tweet. Awesome.

Think AP, think. Standing with C squished between my legs, I try to fix my Crazy Hair into some semblance of order so that I don't look like a complete fool when I knock on my neighbor's door asking to borrow their phone. It's bad enough that I'm wearing my Mom Uniform. 

After knocking on not one, not two, but three doors, I finally find a neighbor willing to stifle their laughter and hand over their phone. The laughter quickly resumes when Husband answers, only to my surprise it's him laughing and not the neighbor. 

"Just come home and let us in, OK?" 

And for the following thirty-five minutes, C and I are running all around our front yard eating two-week-stale car cup holder Puffs and drinking V8 Splash directly out of the giant jug that I left in my car from this morning's grocery trip. 

That Hide-A-Key that's been sitting on our kitchen counter for weeks? Well, let's just say it was promptly hidden as soon as we made it back inside. 

Happy Thursday, Loyals!