Super Mom to the Rescue

My day started out with a very snotty baby.

Wait. Let me back up. My night started with something like that. It was around 10:30 pm when I finally decided to go to bed. I heard him stirring and crying. Not a good sign. I went in and he downed another bottle. Maybe he was just hungry? Nope. He was up every hour like clock work. He wouldn’t take his paci, wouldn’t eat again, he was just restless all night. Just about the time I would drift off to sleep, he would cry again. At around 3 am, I finally turned off the monitor after giving him some Tylenol. I was wide awake. Writing a blog post in my head (not this one). Stop it! I yelled to myself, and probably 30 minutes later I did finally fall into a restless sleep myself.

Groggily, I got out of bed and got Avery off to school. I asked Kyle to get dressed and that’s when he told me, “I changed my underwear because it was wet”. Yep, so were his sheets. A problem we’ve been having lately. Sigh. At least it’s laundry day. As I get a load of laundry to take downstairs, I slip through the basement door trying to keep the cat from running upstairs. She is banished to the basement or outside from now on after the incident. As I try to navigate my deadly stairs made of tile with an annoying cat under my feet, she attacks. Well, excuse me for daring to walk down my stairs you spawn of satan! I head back upstairs to bandage up my leg.

At this point, I feel like crawling into a corner and rocking myself to sleep, my day gets promising. A friend offers to take Kyle to one of those bouncy house places that he’s been dying to go back to. After originally inviting all of us, and hearing me complain about my night, she offered to just take him along with her and her two kiddos. SO nice, huh? I’m so grateful for friends that know just how to help. I get him out the door, and am starting to feel a little more like I’ve got things under control. I decide to go change the laundry. Now, this is where things get interesting. And humorous. Because how can you NOT find the humor in days like this?

There is a door in the kitchen that leads to the basement stairs that I keep closed when I go down to the basement. This is to avoid my toddler (who thinks he can go down stairs like big people) from tumbling down the death trap stairs (as I lovingly call them), I keep that door shut when I have to run down to grab something. Half way down the stairs is a door that leads to the outside of the house (pictured below…picture has been shrunk to avoid embarrassing the innocent who are supposed to clean the stairs). Once you pass that landing there are a few more stairs that lead to the laundry room. “I’ll just run down there real quick and switch the laundry”, I think.

I head back up with a load in my arms and go to open the door at the top of the stairs leading back into the kitchen. It’s locked. Now, usually, you are grateful when your child reaches a new milestone, like newfound dexterity with his thumb and forefinger, until he does something like lock you in the basement.

Crap.

Luckily, I had my cell phone in my pocket. I very calmly call my husband (unlike the phone call from the cat incident) and explain my dilemma. He repeats back to me, “Chandler locked you out?” I hear laughter in the background. “Are your coworkers laughing at me?” I ask. He laughs, “They are saying, ‘Child Anarchy!'” Somehow I don’t find this too humorous.

I go outside where it is 33 degrees with a blizzard like wind blowing with no shoes or coat and see if the front door is unlocked. It isn’t. He reminds me that the kids’ window is probably still open from last night when we cracked it. Lovely. I get to climb through a window. “I’ll call you back” I say. Didn’t want to listen to his coworkers laughing at me while I tried to shimmy my way through a window.

I go back to the basement door and listen. “Chandler!” I call. He is right there. I hear things jangling. I imagine him choking on something small, like coins. “Unlock the door buddy!” I realize I’m talking to a baby, and that is ridiculous. Sigh. I guess I get to climb through a window. Great. This is going to be awesome.

I go to the back deck. Looking for something to climb on. I try a chair. Too short. But, I do get the window open. Chandler comes into the room where the window is and smiles at me. Holding my wallet. He’s happy, and not choking on coins. Yet.

Then, I move the porch swing that is right under the window, and slide the grill over to the window. This thing is tiny, 11 years old, rusty, and not too reliable. But, it’s my only choice. I hoist myself up on top. I realize that breaking and entering is not all it’s cracked up to be if you’re a tired mom of 3, who still hasn’t lost the baby weight (and then some), wearing no shoes climbing through a 100 year old window that won’t open all the way. I just think to myself, “Thank goodness I’m climbing in the back window where no one can see me.” I start to pull myself in. There is no bending, so I have to just slide in flat (as possible) throwing the millions of tiny little toys and crap out of the way that is sitting on my daughter’s dresser. I made it. Chandler starts pointing at the window and laughing after I’m in.

Real funny, kid. Real funny.

I call my husband back, and tell him I’m in. He asks, “What was Chandler doing while you were climbing in the window?” I say, “Playing with my wallet.” He repeats it back to me (probably for the benefit of his work partner), “He had your wallet?” I hear snickering, and a question in the background “Did he have the keys to the car too?” “I’ve got to go” I say to my husband (before I jump through the phone and strangle one of those jerks for making fun of me). They probably think I’m a certified nut case who has no control over the house during the day. Maybe I am. But, I like to think of myself as Super Mom.  It’s OK. I give you permission to call me that.

After all, I can leap tiny grills, and pull my fat butt through windows after my baby locks me out.
You need skills for that.

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