It was a typical day in midwest homeschooling-finished-for-the-year-now-let's-do something-fun-ville. Some of those days include all points of interest shifting drastically. Last week held one of those days.
I had planned to work in a library visit with the kids, then run some small errands (which may appear small, but with all six kids...even well-behaved...except the 3 year old...it generally becomes bigger than said task seems). Everyone pottied (yes, I like that word..almost Old English as it rolls off the tongue) and were getting shoes on when the call to war was sounded.
"Mom! The van is locked!"
Sweat immediately forms on my brow at these words. I panic inwardly, then try to calm myself. It's okay...it's okay...surely he means that the keys are not in the van and it is just locked. Yes, that must be it. whew!
"Mom! The keys are in the van!"
No!!!
I try for outward calm as I head up from the basement to the garage. This is not good. How am I going to....spare keys! Yes! I bought spare keys! (perhaps now would be a good time to say that I had to call road service to my GARAGE before....twice.) I knew I had spare keys!! So, I try to remember where I put the spare keys so that if we were out somewhere, then they would be on me in case the door was accidentally locked.
Hmmm....
The backpack! That was where they were! "Kids," I call out. "Where is the diaper bag backpack?"
"It's in the van...behind your seat."
AAarrrrggghhh!!!
Slowly....anger replaces any attempts at calm. "Who was playing with the doors and locked them?" Of course, this is when the Not ME! monster from the cartoon 'Family Circus' is unveiled. I stare at six pairs of eyes.
blink......
blink....
Even Katie has the sense to remain mum. "Okay." I am super-frustrated now. "Everyone in the house. We are not going anywhere until I fix this."
I call my hubby and pray that by some moment of dumb luck he actually has the spare keys.
Fail.
I realize, with a sense of defeat, that staring down the keys will not be sufficient and I will have to call my auto insurance agent. The phone is ringing.
"Hello?"
*sigh* "Hi, Dad."
"What's up?"
...I'm sure you know what I said. So, dad being Dad, encourages me in my resistance to call by giving me some sound advice. "Can you get a crowbar in between the door and van body?"
To put it briefly, I had a crowbar, a screwdriver, and a straightened hanger involved in my madness...for an hour. In a 90+ degree garage, I was sweating with my dad on the speakerphone encouraging me for about 10 minutes....I decided when the tongue is getting closer to the confessional that I need to hang up with dad...first. So, I tell him I will work on it. Calmly walk my sweaty self and lock the door to the house (the kids are wisely hiding from me anyhow) and unleash the beast. I did, try to keep it to old school speak...way old school....
You puffed-up mushroom!
Loathesome Popinjay!
Jumped up pinchpenny nipfarthing!
It was in those moments that I, once again, truly knew that my thoughts that I had become a more patient person withered like dust in the wind. Oh Lord, how well you know me!
Well, least to say, I did get the door pulled away and managed to carefully get the tip of the bent hanger on the unlock release. I pushed.
That hanger bent like an over-cooked noodle.
White dots danced in my vision. They may have been sweat or utter defeat, but there they were.
I would have to call road service....and remove all evidence of my folly before they arrive!
I call road service. They ask for my policy number.
It's in the van, too.
I call my agent back and the ball is rolling. 45 minutes.
A group of young men get out of a vehicle in front of my house with some equipment that looks like and inflatable bath pillow and a fencing epee. They ask for my driver's license for verification. It is in the house. I turn to get it and open the door where my 3 year-old is wailing. A wave of crying and my 2 little guys yelling in a sword fight envelops the garage. The three young men look shocked into stillness for a moment before one of them speaks up.
"Never mind."
In the 30 seconds following that declaration, the door was unlocked.
Just like that.
I definitely need to get me a set of those thing-a-ma-jiggers.
And maybe a glass of wine, too.
And perhaps another spare key....
