Little kids are certainly a test of manual dexterity for us middle aged folks. I pretty much had his laces completely out and the shoes deconstructed before I could squish his feet in. He was highly amused, and giggled away. With hands held, and goofy goldie in tow, we toddled off to the park for a quick go at the swings. Dash doesn't like holding hand too much, but I made him. I told him it wasn't an option. Then, "What did I say?" "Not option." Good. We had a marvelous time, returned to the house just after 9:30, it was pretty dark, but everyone was happy. Until....
I discovered we were locked out of the house. In my old house, and at certain friends' homes, the knob lock is engaged for short outings. At my daughter's house, one has to use the deadbolt, to which I have a key. You would think that after having to have Brianne's neighbour Sean slink through the kitchen window last year when I had locked the wrong lock the first time, I would have known which lock to use. But no. And like all good Grandmas, I swiftly used the "S" word, softly, but not so softly that the Humvee didn't hear. He was happily dancing on the grass, uttering the expletive in a sing songy voice with each step he took.
Aha! The cell phone with the kids' cell number you say. Aha! Locked in the house too. An open window? Nope. Neighbours with keys? They were out with the Bean and Ian. So I uttered a few more expletives in my mind while I put the dog in the back yard. What to do.
Checked in on the neighbours' neighbours. Light and voices emanated from within. Finally an opened door after three trials of knocking. I politely asked for a phone, child in arms. "No phone." Door shut. No soup for you. Off we shuffled to another set of neighbours about six doors down. The inside door was open. Knocked twice. No answer. To the neighbours on the other side of the Bean. No luck. As I was trudging to a local mall with an increasingly tired little Humvee, my saviour appeared. A gentleman going for a drive. I pounced on him before he got into the car, and begged a phone from him. Obligingly, he returned with a phone and a pen and paper. I think I woke Ian's Dad, and when I asked him for Ian's phone number, he said "Which one?" He has 4 or 5. He eventually texted Ian our little dilemma along with the phone number where I was. The gentleman's wife came out, and offered the couch for me and a blankie for the sleepy Humvee, who happily stretched out on it. But, no call back. So I called the number that Ian's Dad texted. "The person you are calling is not available. Please try your call again later." Another mindful expletive. Eureka! I knew where they were! The gentleman googled "The Ranch", and in no time, I was babbling at the hostess: "...and I locked the wrong door and how could I have been so stupid a second time and no neighbours were around until I came upon this one, and how could I have been so stupid and can you look for my daughter and how could I have been so stupid and my son in law and how could I have been so extraordinarily dumb?" It was 11 PM by the time I put the baby to bed. The Humvee, not me. I hope they will still let me take him to Disney World someday. They use passcards in most hotels these days.
|Wherever I lay my hat, that's my home. Which may be the front lawn when I'm with Grandma.|