UGH! It was one of those mornings.
Cam was perched in his highchair, combing strawberry jam through his "barely-there hair." He was playing a rousing game of "Throw-the-Waffles-Onto-The-Floor-And-Score-Extra-Points-For-Beaning-Lilly-In-The Head-With-Them." Lilly was squawking like an eagle and insisting on eating Oreos for breakfast. I had had it up to my eyeballs!
"Kids," I said, "we are going outside to get the wiggles out!" Lilly was shaking a milk carton bird feeder--a preschool project--like a rattle. I got an idea.
"Better yet, let's finally hang the bird feeder in the backyard," I said. ("Any activity to get you to stop acting like hyenas," I thought.) I was met with a chorus of "yipees" and "hoorays" as the kids scrambled for their shoes.
Now, it must be said that I have a sliding glass door that leads to the backyard. We have a large wooden dowel--that serves as a "security bar"--wedged horizontally between the door that slides and the frame. Simply, it serves as an additional (albeit makeshift) lock for added home safety. When the dowel is down, the door will not open.
I propped the dowel up (vertically) in the door frame, slid open the back door, and shooed the kids on through. Once we were all outside, I turned to slowly slide the door shut again.
And that's when I heard a clunk. I could see our "security bar" being "oh-so-secure" at a 45 degree angle; snugly resting between the frame and the door. Somehow, it had toppled over.
Panic, panic, panic! I pushed the door! Nothing. Not even a smidgen of a budge. Nothing but an inch of open space I could barely stick my nose in. I was starting to sweat, and I could feel the refreshingly cool whisper of my AC through that blasted crack! I could see my front door through the glass. Locked. I could see my keys on the table. Taunting me. I could see my cell phone sitting next to my keys--equally taunting me. AAHHH!!
CRAPPITY-CRAP-CRAP! I was locked out.
I quickly took "inventory" of myself and my kids:
Wearing dirty pajamas? Check.
Bird feeder in hand? Check.
Messy face and disheveled hair in need of a shampooing? Check.
Wearing a sticky and crusty pajama top? Check.
No bottoms, just a saggy diaper? Check.
Looking like a poor miscreant? Check.
Polka dot pajama pants? Check.
Mismatched t-shirt? Check.
Teeth in major need of a brushing? Check.
No bra, no makeup, and bed head? Check, check, check.
What to do? What to do? I picked up Cam, fluffed my hair, grabbed Lilly's hand, took a deep breath, put my chin up, and said, "We need to get some help. We are going to Amanda's house."
To make a long story short, Amanda saved the day! She welcomed me into her home with all the kindness a true friend can muster. She let my kids play, she let me borrow her broom (which was used in my attempt to jimmy the kitchen window open), and she let me use her phone (when the broom failed to work)! I called James at his office and he happily and willingly (har, har) left a work meeting to drive home and unlock the front door for us. (McHubby: Well...this is to be expected. Mama Leisha: What on earth do you mean by that?!?! McHubby: You ARE accident prone. Mama Leisha: You love me.)
Here's how I know my sweet Amanda is a true friend--She didn't judge me for being bra-less and ugly! She didn't even bat an eye when she saw that my children looked like vagabonds. She offered her car, in case I needed to drive to James' office to pick up our house key. She never made me feel dorky about my predicament. (She never would.) We laughed about the whole ordeal. We had a good chat while we waited for James. She told me that my bedhead was cute. (HELLO!! TRUE FRIEND!)
And she offered me a cold Diet Pepsi and a candy bar. Which I gratefully took.
I think I'll get locked out tomorrow.