In order to deal with her fears I would run around the room scooping the ghosts up and throwing them out the windows and doors. It was quite a workout and made PK laugh like a hyena. The upside was that after I’d chased all the ghosts out of her room she would go to sleep. The downside was that she was so amused by my ghost-busting that every time I went into her room to catch them there were greater numbers of ghosts. Just inventing more ghouls wasn’t enough though, they also got smarter. Eventually I’d go into her room to find hordes of ghosts who would no longer cower and scurry off when tossed out on their ears. The new ghosts would cling to the door frames, wriggle out of my arms to hide in the closet and creep back in the window while my back was turned dealing with the next apparition.

Fortunately there came a day when PK outgrew the ghosts and I was forced to join a gym to get my exercise. Now I’m dealing with Monkey’s fears: Monsters. Tonight she crept into our room after she’d been tucked in to let us know that her room was overrun and she was on the run. Since DH was lounging face down on the bed and showed no sign of concern I abandoned my ironing to fend of the oogedy boogedies.

She entered her room cautiously and told me the monsters were under her bed. After I turned on the light she inspected the shadows below her bed and declared that there were no monsters because they were only there when the lights were off. Flicking the switch down she checked again and pronounced that they were back.

I turned the light on once more and sat with her to discuss the problem. It turned out that the monsters hid right outside her room waiting until the moment the room went dark to go mini-size in order to slip in unseen. Once under the bed they got big-sized again in order to scare her.

The solution to the problem was immediately clear. I reached into my pocket and pulled out my aerosol can on monster repellent. It’s very similar to bug repellent or RAID. By spraying it around all the doors and windows we were able to stop the monsters from entering the room at all. With the monster problem solved Monkey snuggled back into her bed and hasn’t been seen again.

Two questions remain. How far will the monster problem escalate and what boogy-woogie with Busy B come up with?

Apparently when hubby and BIL were outside this afternoon playing football with the kids the keys fell out of his unsecured pocket. Unfortunately he had no idea when exactly that happened so he could only tell us that they should be somewhere in the common area (about the size of a big backyard). This was complicated by the fact that they had trampled over and around the entire area which had then been covered by even more snow.

Hubby started by searching spots he knew he’d tackled BIL while I started kicking through the snow at the base of the big king-of-the-hill type pile the plows had built at the end of the driveway. Finding nothing I grabbed the broom and swept around it a couple times while hubby crawled through it just to double check. When we still hadn’t found anything I started out across the field of play. After the first pass across I was sweating in my big down coat and started unsnapping the top to let the breeze down the back of my neck. By the time I finished the second pass I pushed my hat off my ears and neck.

I continued on a few more times sweeping my way from driveway to sidewalk while hubby dug through the end zones with his flashlight. As I took a breath and repositioned the flashlight against the broomstick so it would shine on the snow as I pushed it around I saw that the snow removal crew had returned. A truck was plowing a neighboring driveway and a group of three or four men were making their rounds with their shovels. I pondered approaching them for assistance but decided I wasn’t that desperate just yet while secretly hoping that they’d see us, be overcome by curiosity and after hearing our tale of woe offer to help us.

While imagining a small crew of men digging out the common area for me I began another pass but my rescue fantasy was interrupted halfway through by a flicker of something black under my broom. Swishing over the spot one more time revealed the lost keys.

It ended up taking us only about 15 minutes searching to find them so I was glad I insisted on helping. Now we just need to get the keys back to my sister and her husband over an hour drive away. They said they’d meet us halfway tomorrow and owe us big time. We’re wondering about the key fob on the chain offering a reward if we mail it in. Hmm, spend gas money and time to drive the keys back and get a big hug or drop them in the mailbox at the end of the drive and get a thank you hopefully in the form of a little money.

Sometimes it sucks being a good person.

Yes, she has…dun dun duuuuun…the FLU!  Not the piggy pox which is good and bad.  H1N1 would have been a little scary and a lot of people would probably be hexing us from a distance to ward off the germs.  That would have sucked.  Of course other kind souls would have probably taken pity on us and brought us meals, offered to run errands and be generally kind and charitable because we would be those poor unfortunate souls who got the Swine Flu and there but by the grace of God.

So now the house is full of creepy-crawls infectious no-see-ems.  The only one to remain unscathed is PK.  I pondered that briefly then recognized the reason for her health as well as the root of our lamentable situation.  It is clear to me that PK is hale and hearty simply because she an almost teenager who is thoroughly disgusted by slimy baby kisses.  Everyone else in the house sees a booger-faced toddler with his chubby hands clambering round our necks leaning in for an open-mouthed snot kiss and can’t break his precious little heart by turning aside.  Thus we are stricken.  PK sees the same thing and scurries upstairs to lock herself in her room with blaring headphones.  Thus she is spared.

Tonight’s adventure took us on our first family field trip to a radiologist. This had nothing to do with PK and everything to do with Spy Baby and her recent bout of digestive issues which were causing her to vomit intermittently over the course of a couple weeks at semi-random (always after 6pm) times. This is another of those experiences that will seem funny to me someday but is still safely ensconced in the humorless category as I’m still waiting for test results to confirm or contradict the doctor’s theory of kidney problems. But as usual I am digressing.

As we drove to the radiology office SB commented to PK that she had chocolate on her chin. As I watched in the rearview mirror SB attempted to mime the location of the chocolate to PK with no success. The more SB tried the more ludicrous PK’s attempts became until I had two giggly girls wiggling around my back seat. I finally grabbed my little chapstick (actually lipstick but I don’t wear that so…) case that has a little mirror in it and handed it back. PK quickly swiped the leftover pudding off her chin and handed it back to me. As we were stopped at a red light I turned around to make sure her face was truly clean and at first thought she had missed a spot but then realized that it wasn’t chocolate still marring her skin. Before I could ascertain exactly what the spot on her chin was the light turned green and we were moving again.

By the time we reached the office it was dark and I had completely forgotten PK’s chin. We went in, got some neat pictures of SB’s kidneys, I got a bruise on my shin from where she kicked me while she tantrumed and we left again. Not painless but no blood was shed so I’m calling it a victory.

Back home once again it was bedtime so I herded the monkeys upstairs, into jammies then into their beds. As I stood awkwardly on the bottom bunk to kiss PK goodnight on her top bunk I again noticed the odd mark on her chin. Unfortunately PK’s bunk is too high for any good light to reach and as I was standing quite precariously I ordered her down to the floor for a closer examination.

On the ground and standing directly in the light I tilted PK’s head up and leaned in close to examine her skin only to realize that my dear little 9.5 year old PK has her very first PIMPLE!

When I explained to her what the blemish was she began to cry. I kid you not. The child fell apart faster than over-baked cookies. This is where the bad mommy stuff comes in.

It might be that I’m used to the occasional (okay, okay, CONSTANT) breakout and a single pimple is just not that big of a deal to me. Or I could just have a cold heart of stone. Either way the bottom line is that I laughed. Just a small smile and shake of my head at the silly little girl who was falling apart over something that will soon become a routine part of her existence. Unfortunately she didn’t have my perspective on the situation and she cried harder.

The harder she cried the more I laughed. She finally started yelling at me but not for laughing. PK actually accused me of causing her pimple. She really stood there and blamed me for making clogging her pores. This of course opened the floodgates of good-natured ridicule which took our conversation through an odd discourse of how if I’d never given birth to her she wouldn’t have a pimple now and would be much happier. What I wouldn’t give to be as smart as her.

My favorite part of our bizarre exchange was when I tried to play the part of sympathetic cool mom and said, “Honey, this is just part of growing up.” She replied, “But I’m just a kid!” to which I responded “That’s generally when growing up happens.” I finally ended the conversation by jokingly asking what she wanted me to do and if she thought I could just send the pimple fairy to come take it away before morning. She said yes so I’m supposed to give her a call and see if she can make it tonight.

This is one of those moments that I’ve thought about a lot since having a daughter. I imagined that we would bond and I would share with her vast amounts of knowledge on skin care and other assorted beauty tips. I also imagined that PK would be 16 when this happened so unfortunately the only beauty tip I was prepared to give was “You should wash your face better.” Yeah, worst mom ever here I come!

I wonder if the pimple fairy pays for zits.

We went to the pharmacy and bought all the lice removal paraphernalia which all told cost me close to $100 and headed back home. I immediately stripped beds and started doing laundry then shampooed SB’s hair. Three hours later she was shampooed and combed through as thoroughly as I could. It was 10:00 when I put her to bed although the poor thing had been falling asleep with her head on my knee while I picked bugs from her scalp. Then I started over on PK who finally got put to bed at 2:00am. During one of her potty breaks I did some more searching on the Internet and found advice suggesting that covering the hair once it was cleaned would help prevent reinfestation from the rest of the house. Taking that to heart I tied a plastic bag over PK’s hair before tucking her in.

At that point I was too exhausted to worry about what was creeping through my hair and I collapsed. 6 hours of sleep later I got up and deloused the living room so the girls would have a safe place to play. I also ran out again to pick up some shower caps since they weren’t fond of the crinkly bags from the grocery store. Then I attacked my own head. Let me just say “EWWWW”.

During this whole time I was also laundering everything that wasn’t nailed down but I didn’t feel as though I was making any progress. That feeling intensified when late in the afternoon I began combing through the PK’s hair again and found even more little buggies. I then had to tear off everything from their beds again and rewash the bedding.

The next morning the whole process repeated itself but this time both girls had buggies. Unfortunately Thursday was also the day of the long awaited appointment for SB with the psychiatrist. I decided to go anyway. I know, I’m horrible. I couldn’t wait three more months though. I dropped PK at my mom’s where she was banished to the back yard (at least she was able to swim in their pool) while SB and I trekked downtown to Children’s Memorial.

Now, not to mingle stories here but in order to get a real feel for my week I’m going to give the rundown of how that appointment went. We’d been referred by the child/family psychologist that I’d been taking her to in the spring when she felt she couldn’t help us anymore. We were supposed to get an evaluation for ADHD and OCD. We spent an hour talking to a very nice woman doctor about the insanity that characterizes life with SB and at the end of the appointment I walked away with more questions than answers. According to the doctor SB is “interesting” and she’s going to “think about this” some more. Apparently she’s not exactly ADHD nor is she quite OCD. As a matter of fact she seems like she might have Asperger’s (a high-functioning disorder on the autistic spectrum) but that doesn’t fit completely either. We set up another appointment for next month.

We finally got back to the p’s house about 4 hours after we’d left. My mom generously came outside to pick through my hair and make sure all the bugs were gone since I couldn’t see for myself. Once I was pronounced clean I felt an enormous amount of relief. Then I went through my middlest sister’s hair since she’d been around my kids quite a bit while the sitter was on vacation. To my delight she had not a trace of lice anywhere.

That night when we got home I combed through the girls’ hair again just to reassure myself and although they were clean I still made them sleep in their shower caps. After they were in bed I got a phone call from my middlest sister informing me that she’d found lice in our littlest sister’s hair. The littlest sister refused an offer to come to my house and have me help her deal with the problem. In fact, she refused to speak with me at all. It was during that phone call that I learned that our sister-in-law, who we’d visited two weeks earlier, had called to say that she and her daughters all had lice. She shared with my sister that she was not happy with me at all. It’s a good thing I’m used to being in disfavor with my family or this might have hurt. Oh wait, still did.

The next morning we did another comb through, one buggie for SB and none for PK. Lots and lots of nits though. Fortunately they were the hatched ones so not a concern. Another comb through that evening was uneventful. Saturday and Sunday passed peacefully with lots of combing and I finally finished washing everything. Last night I went to bed looking forward to the prospect of returning to work.

Then I talked to the sitter this morning. Some of the other parents had expressed their concern about my daughters returning to her house due to the lice situation. Now, my sitter is not a doormat. She is not the kind of person who lets others dictate how she will behave and she had told me last week that as long as the kids were lice free they could return on Monday. Those parents must have leaned very heavily on her because she, very apologetically, asked me to please keep the girls home until they’ve had their second shampoo treatment. Since the shampoo contains toxic chemicals you can’t administer it more than once every 7 days which means the kids don’t go back until Wednesday.

That was it. That was the final straw for me. I’m going to pat myself on the back a bit and say that I think I handled the commotion and garbage of the last week very well. I didn’t snap at anyone, I didn’t blame anyone or get mad at the world because my life happened to suck. I tried to see the humor in the situation and just plow through it. Being shunned this morning by some small-minded self-centered who-gives-a-damn-if-the-doctor-says-its-fine-make-the-single-mother-miss-more-work-so-there’s-no-chance-of-me-being-inconvenienced people just knocked me off my feet. I mean, I know these parents. I see them every day and we chat and are nice and I just never would have expected these people who know me to be so juvenile and petty. Not to mention that the other girls who had the outbreak first weren’t “required” by the other parents to stay out for a week.

So I called the only person who I knew would actually answer the phone and listen at 6:45am. My mommy. I cried and sobbed that it just wasn’t fair. Then she had to go to work so I called my daddy. I cried and sobbed that it just wasn’t fair. Then I made pancakes and hung out with the kids all day.

Yeah, I bounce back pretty quick most of the time. I spent my free time researching Asperger’s and trying to figure out what to do about my quirky little spy. Tomorrow my dad is going to work from my house so he can hang with the kids while I go to the office. When I get home I’ll shampoo the girls hair and Wednesday they’ll return to the sitter’s. It could all be worse I’m sure.

So this wasn’t funny, and it was long and kinda boring. I apologize. I’ll be funny next time. I hope.

When we got home PK went out to play with her friend and SB crawled under a blanket on the couch. She had circles under her eyes and looked washed out. I put my hand on her forehead and decided to take her temperature. It was 100.2. Nothing major but I called the sitter to let her know and then went to start making dinner. SB had the tv on but kept wandering into the kitchen wanting to be held. Finally she said she wanted her blankie so I said she could go pull it off her bed. I heard her go upstairs and then a minute later I heard her start walking back down. Then I heard her scream.

Jurd and anyone else with a weak stomach might want to skip the next 5 paragraphs. I warn because I love.

I yelled out “What’s wrong?” as I tried to dump the handful of clean utensils I was holding into the drawer and climb over the open dishwasher to reach her. When I found her she was standing on the third step from the bottom clutching her blue blanket and covered in vomit. I grabbed her and went into the bathroom where she spit over and over into the toilet sobbing the whole time and saying “I brave, I brave”. When it was over I stripped her clothes and held her little body close until she stopped shaking. PK happened to come inside then and I sent her upstairs for some pajamas which I put onto SB before she curled up on the couch with a trash can next to her just in case and fell asleep.

I thought I was a dork for asking my parents for a Green Machine carpet cleaner for my birthday but that was the smartest thing I’ve ever requested. It took about half an hour but I managed to get the carpet on the stairs cleaned. By the time I was done SB had woken up a bit and I tucked her into her bed upstairs. Once she was settled I headed back to the kitchen to finish making dinner gratefully thinking it was good that it was a cold pasta salad that had been interrupted.

PK and I were at the end of our meal and sitting down watching Spy Kids 2 when SB came back downstairs wanting to cuddle. She snuggled with me on the couch while PK sat on the floor engrossed in the movie. Every time she started wiggling I asked if she was feeling okay and every time she said yes. Until the time she said no. I frantically grabbed for the trash can that was still by the couch but as I pulled it towards us I banged it on the ottoman and dropped it. Then her stomach dropped and spilled out on my lap all the while PK sat obliviously staring at the television. When I finally got her attention she brought me a roll of paper towels and I wiped us up a bit and I was thankful that the couch and floor both escaped stains that time.

I sent PK downstairs to watch her movie in the basement while I tried to calm SB down. She was frantic and refused to let me take off her pajamas or even touch her. Then the phone rang. I answered only because it was my brother and I quickly blurted “I can’t talk right now” and hung up on him. Then PK and I headed upstairs to start another load of laundry. I had just convinced her to let me take off her yucky pajamas when my brother called again. I answered and eloquently gushed “I’m covered in vomit, not a good time. I’ll call you back.”

Once the new load of laundry was started I took PK into the shower with me to wash off the residual nastiness and as I rocked her under the water I pondered what change has happened in me that being covered in puke no longer bothers me. That’s not to say that I enjoy it but it hasn’t sent me into convulsions of disgust in years. I think the cure was when Ellie was about four years old and running a high fever. She woke in the night and needed another dose of medicine to help bring the fever down but she was so groggy that she absolutely refused to take it. At 2 in the morning I was in no mood for cajoling or arguing so I resorted to bribery. One spoonful of Tylenol and one brownie later she crawled into bed with me and we both went to sleep. Well, I went to sleep. She tossed and turned and finally rolled over to wake me but instead threw up. It was all over her, all over my bed and most horribly, dripping in my hair. A little puke on my jeans was really nothing compared to that.

Afer we got out of the shower I called my brother back and apologized. And then I felt guilty. He’d been calling because he was in town for a church conference and one of the guys that had come up with him had chipped a tooth exposing the nerve and he really needed the number of our family dentist. Oops. They had finally found the number though and everything was cool so we hung up.

SB and I sat back on the couch to finish watching the movie with PK and during the end she threw up one more time but we managed to be much more coordinated with the trash can and there were no more messes.

I stayed home from work with SB today and she ended up being completely fine all day. Around 3 the sitter called me to pick up PK who had started running a fever herself. I brought her home and she lounged on the couch with her fever until bedtime. No vomiting or anything and her temperature is already dropping so I think everyone will be fine tomorrow.

After I put the girls to bed I got a call from my sister. She just wanted to remind me of something quick but I started babbling. I don’t think she minded really, but I felt like I should shut up and I just couldn’t. Maybe I was just lonely which happens a lot being a single mom even when I get to go to work and be around people most days. It’s the evenings that are hard. Even harder when I spend all day with only little people for company. It’s not so much that they’re little, more that they’re constantly depending on me for everything and it gets to be overwhelming. So I babbled to my sister for quite a while until my other line started ringing.

Seeing that it was my brother I said goodbye and answered his call thinking as I switched lines that he was supposed to be at the big Delirious? concert tonight as part of his conference. The first time and second times I answered I couldn’t hear anything and the call dropped. I called him back then and could barely hear him. The call just kept cutting in and out but I could catch just enough to know that he was definitely at a concert and I finally heard him say “I wanted you to hear this” so I hung on even though I couldn’t understand anything.

After a couple minutes of jarbled nonsense I heard a voice come through very clearly and I realized that it was because it was my brother singing. He studied music in college and he’s the music director for a church in Houston and he’s incredibly talented. Most of the time when he sings he makes a big production out it though and we tease him that he sounds like he’s auditioning for an opera. I don’t know if it was the phone connection or the concert or anything in particular but tonight he sounded different. He sounded at ease instead of formal and he sang “Every little thing?s gonna be alright, Every little thing?s gonna be alright” over and over to me.

Some days I know I’m falling apart and some days I really feel okay. Things get to be too much sometimes and I wonder how I’m going to make it but today wasn’t one of those days. Today I had things duct-taped together pretty well but when I heard my little brother’s voice coming through the phone I could feel all the little cracks inside me that I usually ignore and I started to cry. I can’t really explain it exactly but what I heard in that call was that he’s thinking of me and he’s got my back and extra roll of duct tape just for me.

Delirious? – World Service

It took a while to get the story clear since she was telling it through wracking sobs and everything she said sounded wet due to the tears that were dripping into her mouth, but essentially she was teasing a friend of hers and it got out of hand. It had something to do with him putting his jacket over his head and mumbling “ba ba ba ba ba” except Ellie was hearing “bra bra bra bra bra” and said that if he liked bras so much maybe he should wear one. This was overheard by the two boys sitting in the seat immediately in front of them and quickly spread around the entire bus.

By the time they got to school everyone was giggling over it and Ellie, sensitive soul that she is, felt unbearably ashamed. To relieve her guilt she sought out her teacher and made a full confession. The teacher, apparently unable to find quite the right way to approach the subject sent both Ellie and her friend to the principal’s office. The esteemable keeper of educational justice explained to Ellie that it would be a particularly excellent idea if she were to think about things before opening her mouth and allowing them to just fall out any which way. Her sentence, which to some may seem light but which weighed heavily on her small shoulders, was to write an apology letter to her friend and then *gulp* tell her mother.

Yes, telling me was the fate that caused her to tremble. By the time I picked her up she had a dark cloud hanging so low over her head that her hair was getting frizzy from the humidity. Her lip began to tremble even as I asked what was bothering her and she was completely unravelled by the time we walked out the door. At that point the entire sage gushed forth.

After getting a grip on the situation I couldn’t decide whether to laugh or to yell. Obviously the first trip to the principal’s office was worthy of a grand punishment but is that really necessary when the kid snitches on herself? How terrible is it that I, as her mother, wanted not to yell at her but to teach her that she shouldn’t tattle on her own bad behavior because Mommy doesn’t have time to deal with it?

At the same time I must admit to feeling a bit of pride. My kid knows right from wrong and is brave enough to admit when she’s made a mistake and take her lumps for it. I’m impressed because I know that when I was her age I wouldn’t have done the same thing. I’ve got a great little girl. A great little girl with foot-in-mouthitis.

When I was a kid there wasn’t a video game in existence that could rival the joy of careening downhill on a bicycle with no hands. No one had cable except people with money and Nickelodeon, Cartoon Network and Disney Channel were still twinkles in the eyes of some chrome encrusted board rooms so the allure of television couldn’t stand up to the excitement of the outside world. We had sprinklers to dash through, balls to toss and races to run. We were alive and young.

We were hot and thirsty too. Since our mother had bad asthma and we lived in an old moldy house we got air conditioning. When the heat became oppressive in the afternoons we could retreat indoors for a quick glass of water and the refreshing breeze that wafted from the floor vents. With 4 kids (the twins not being there just yet) constantly in and out of the house with children’s innate ability to forget orders seconds after they’ve been hollered, our mother spent quite a bit of time yelling out the same phrase over and over again as we dashed through the door which was habitually left open.

“In or out! I don’t care which just pick one and close the door!”

I’ve been thinking of those words a lot lately. It’s funny how we find life truths in tiny specks of memory from our youth. We grow older and we mature but the bottom line with anything is the same as when we were kids. We can have it hot or cold but not both. We have to pick one and once we do then it’s time to close the door.

So today what will you decide? In or out.

Her first bite of spaghetti had her sobbing in tears begging me to pull the tooth. Apparently her aim isn’t too great and she jabbed her gums at the base of the loose tooth with her fork. It still took some coercing, allowing her plenty of time to “think and prepare” (her words not mine) and a fake-out phone call to her father to get her to open her mouth but I was pleased that she calmed down once I had my fingers in her mouth. No more trips to the ER this week.

Looking at the time I realize I have an email to send before I clip on my wings and go off on a tooth raid. Gotta fly.

She was holding her cuppie and I was pleased to see that she hadn’t removed her muddy shoes again. I’d already had to scoop them off the floor once at a stop light and get her chubby little feet shoved back into them with her squiggling and wiggling in amusement, so the fact that they were still fastened and in place was a relief. After opening her door I hit the button to lock the doors and started to unlock her from her harness. The keys in my hand hindered my progress and without a jacket pocket to put them in (since the weather was so lovely and warm today) I set them next to her on the seat. Grabbing SB’s hand out of her mouth I saw a thick line of mud on her tongue. Muttering about what a gross child she was I tried to reach into the front seat for a tissue to clean her up but they were too far. I went to open the front passenger door but to pull that door open I had to move the back door and it slipped closed farther than I’d intended and…

I realized just as it was latching that the keys were in the car and the doors were locked. Muttering about what a moron I am I ran into the building to retrieve Princess and beg for help from her teachers. Mr. Paul and Mr. Bob were incredibly helpful as I blurted that I’d locked my baby in the car and needed someone to pop the locks. Mr. Paul went to call the police and Mr. Bob followed us out to the car with his son. Really, it was quite fortunate that traffic had been for crap tonight and I was the last parent to pick up or we wouldn’t have gotten nearly the same amount of hands-on support.

Mr. Paul came out and said the officer would be there within 5 minutes and then the five of us, myself, PK, Mr. Paul, Mr. Bob and Mini-Mr. Bob, stood next to the car and made small talk while smiling encouraging at SB so she wouldn’t panic. SB sat in her seat looking visibly confused about why we didn’t get in the car yet didn’t get her out. Much to my dismay she decided to drown her sorrows by gobbling up more mud off of her shoes and giggling as I pleaded for her to leave the yucky things alone.

After a few minutes of uncomfortable small talk with PK’s teachers the squad car appeared in the parking lot. As soon as SB saw the officer, who was a pleasant gentleman with mostly white hair and a white mustache, she began fretting. The fussing started and the slightly frantic jerking as she tried to get free of the straps that tied her down made me want to scream “HURRY UP!” but I managed to contain my stress. After failing to unlock the passenger side door the cop moved to the driver’s side with his long flat metal doohickey. He informed us that I had a good car with a burglar bar running all the way across the door.

Just as I was about to suggest that we locate a burglar to unlock my car (because really, thieves never seem to have problems unlocking car doors and my Cavvy definitely does NOT have any state of the art theft deterrent system) the door unlocked and was opened. My sigh of relief was cut short by the shriek of my car alarm. I ran to the door to push the unlock button for the rest of the doors, ran back to PK’s door, yanked it open and instead of being able to pull my baby into my arms and calm her screaming I had to scramble for my keys to shut the damn alarm off. When I finally managed to get SB out of her seat she was sweating bullets and threw her arms and legs around me like a vise.

The moral of this story is that I’m an idiot. As much as I would love to blame this on some secret terrorist agency I know the truth. Painful as it is, I must admit that I’ve been locking my keys in cars and houses for many years. I’m a known menace and a repeat offender. I finally cured my house problem by getting a garage with a door opener. I always leave out the garage and if I don’t have the remote with me I can’t close it therefore cannot lock myself out. The car thing is a bit trickier. I’m thinking my next car will have either have the keypad on the door or onStar with their number programmed into my cell phone. Unfortunately that won’t help me when I lock the cell phone in the car with the keys, but it’s a start.

In the meantime I think I’m going to find myself a shady mechanic who will remove the burglar bars from the doors and cut off the alarm. Seriously, who’s going to steal my 3 year old American-made intermediate size terribly messy box on wheels? That’s what I thought.