So That Happened

Our goal as parents is to raise polite, well-behaved, well-adjusted kids. That goal is currently gathering dust in the backs of our minds because right now our main goal is survival. Three is no joke.

We are in the foxhole, people. We are dodging an onslaught of behavior artillery. We are tired, low on rations and in need of reinforcement. Unfortunately, the supply line has been cut and won’t be restored until December. Apparently the arrival of four will institute a cease-fire and peace talks can begin. But until then, pray for us.

On Saturday morning, L.J. was told Daddy was leaving soon and given instructions to go get dressed. He thought it was much more entertaining to hide underneath our bedsheets and ignore us. When it came time for Mike to leave, he told L.J. goodbye, but L.J. still wouldn’t emerge from the sheets. Off Daddy went.

Ten minutes later, L.J. wanders downstairs looking for Daddy. I told him Daddy had left. He threw an enormous fit because he didn’t get to say goodbye. I  ignored the fit, but calmly reminded him that Daddy did say goodbye, but he refused to get up and say goodbye back.

Five minutes later and L.J. is still furious and throwing a fit. I went down into the basement to retrieve something, figuring L.J. would get curious and follow me. Instead, I heard the door slam. Whatever. Then I heard a distinct “click.”

Oh no.
Oh no he didn’t.

I climbed the stairs and sure enough, L.J. had locked me out of the house. The door from the basement into the house is a solid wood door with a deadbolt. When it’s locked, it’s locked.

I stood there for a moment alternating between fury at his disobedience and amusement at the absurdity that my three year old had just locked me out of the house on purpose.

All our exterior doors were locked, as were the screen and storm doors that lead to all of them. There was no way I was getting back into the house.

I thought for a moment, quickly coming to the conclusion that I could go to a neighbor’s house and call Mike to come home. (Our garage is accessed through our basement, so I could get out but not back in.)

First, though, I’d try to con L.J. into opening the door.

“L.J. open this door right now!” was returned with, “I locked the door, Mommy! You can’t come in!”

I was seething by this point, but quickly faked a happy tune:

“L.J.! Guess what?! Poppa’s here!! Quick! Come see who’s here!!”

That got his attention really fast, though I’m not sure who was madder when he opened the door: me at his behavior or L.J. at realizing Poppa was not here.

After a very stern reprimand, his current favorite playthings – Paw Patrol characters and Rescue Center Heroes – went into timeout for the remainder of the day.

A few hours later, I was recounting what happened to Mike. His response:

“Sweetie, doesn’t the key hanging next to the door going into the garage also work on the basement door going into the house?”

Umm…

Yes, yes it certainly does.

In fact, we changed the deadbolt on the basement door for that exact purpose.

Alas, when in the heat of the moment…