When I was little, and people used to ask me, "What do you want to be when you grow up?" I would answer:
"I want to be a bank robber."
What can I say? It was the first wave of computer-hacking bank-robbing movies and it looked like fun. Anyway, apparently I said it too many times because finally my mom said:
"You have to stop saying that, Sweetie."
Probably, it was a little embarrassing to have a little girl with blunt-cut bangs and chubby cheeks running around telling everyone she wanted to rob banks.
This has a lot to do with today's post, because this weekend, I realized that I never could have dealt with the pressure of robbing banks. In fact, I would have been so bad for that line of work, I think I would have wet myself before any of the people I was robbing had a chance to.
On Saturday, in the middle of a weekend full of crazy (John was golfing with my uncle who was in from out of town, while two boys who refused to nap were running around my house like chickens with their heads cut off), the boys decided to lock themselves in the bathroom.
You know how sometimes, you have this moment of pure inspiration and think, "I can do this in 30 seconds and be back and be organized?" I've decided I will ignore these moments forever. I will call this voice, Nancy, and Nancy needs to be quiet, because here's what Nancy told me to do on Saturday when I was trying to get all of us ready to go swimming.
While the boys play, you run outside with the swimming bag full of clothes and diaper bag because otherwise, you'll have two boys in the car by themselves while you try to make the trip. Ah ha! You smart woman, Nancy. What a great idea! So I grabbed the diaper bag and swimming clothes while the boys were entertained and ran outside. It really was 30 seconds.
30 seconds too long.
When I came back in the house I heard lots of crying and thought, oh hell, one of the boys hit the other one for the 30th time today and I'll have to give a time out while trying to get everyone ready for the pool and spread sunscreen on wriggling bodies.
The boys are in a phase where they like to close doors, so I went to open the bathroom door where they apparently decided to play, and I couldn't open it more than an inch.
They hadn't locked it truly.
Worse.
They'd shut the door, then opened a vanity door and pulled a shelf out that sits just an inch inside the bathroom door. The bathroom door opens to the bathroom, not the hallway, so when I pushed on the door, it hit the door to the vanity, knocked into the pulled out shelf, and I had only enough room to squeeze my hand in (which is now all sorts of bruised because my chubby hand barely fit through that space). On top of that, the lights were out, so my little guys were stuck in a dark bathroom.
In a moment of panic (when I realized bank-robbing would have led to me needing to change my pants a lot, not me making lots of money), I thought, oh my God, they're eating VapoRub. VapoRub is awesome when your kids have a cold. But probably not awesome when consumed.
I started throwing myself at the door. (The doors were built nearly 30 years ago, so when I failed to open it this way, I felt a wave of disappointment at my strength, but got over it pretty quickly since the scenario called for quick action).
So I did what I always do in a moment of pure panic at age 28.
I called my mother.
"Mom!! The boys locked themselves in the bathroom!" I said while I tried to jimmy rig a hanger to reach through the door and turn on the lights for my now glass-breaking decibel-screaming children.
And she did what she always does because she's my mom. She hung up and drove to my house.
Seconds later, I finally got the boys to calm down by saying in a shaky voice:
"Boys - mommy's right here. I'm right here."
Probably it looked really creepy what with my voice right on the other side of the door and just my hand reaching in grasping at air, but I tried.
And they responded a bit. Their crazy cries went to ghasps for air.
"And Mommy's going to get you out," I said, thinking, "How in the heck am I going to get you out?" I went back to my work with the hanger, cursing the fact that I wasn't MacGayver. Or my friend Kim. My friend Kim once fixed a dent in a car with a towel and a spoon.
Really, had I been calm from the beginning, this may have worked out a lot faster, because when I started to calm down and talk to the boys while I slid the hanger through the door, Will started to walk closer, trying to reach my hand, and his little belly inched the drawer forward.
Ah ha!
"That's it Will," I said, "come here, Sweetie."
Another inch, and I could push the door open enough to get my elbow in. He walked a bit closer, and at last! Two children! Two crying, puffy-faced, scared-of-the-dark children who hadn't eaten any VapoRub! They ran at me and hugged my legs and tried to crawl up me to wrap their arms around my neck.
I hugged them tight, and they were over me in about 30 seconds and decided they wanted to play outside. Sully just had a bruise on his forehead and a scratch on his nose earned during all of the excitement.
All in all, the whole situation lasted about 3 minutes, but they were the longest minutes of my life. Probably near the amount of time you'd have to get in and out of a bank robbery. But I'll never know. Two boys are enough excitement for me.
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