Keys

This month I took my car in for it's yearly safety and emission tests, and I failed both.  Don't be jelly of my skillz.  (That's how the teenagers talk.)  Anyway. . . in order to pass these tests and renew my vehicle's registration, I was forced strongly advised to get new tires for my car, which you can imagine was an unwelcome expense just before the Christmas season.  Thankfully, my father helped me call around and find tires that were within my budget.  What do you know?  Walmart had the best prices.  Whut whut!  (Again, trying to keep my teenage reader interested.) 

Yesterday, after Sam's morning nap and snack, I packed up my children and drove down to the nearest Walmart with a tire shop.  When my car was checked in I bought some lunch, and Andrea and I wandered the aisles of Walmart for two hours drooling over baby Christmas clothes, kitchen gadgets, and all things Dora the Explorer.  Andrea even helped me pick out some presents for her daddy.  This excited her so much she began pointing out everything that made her thing of Paul and begging me to buy them so she could practice wrapping.  Nice try kid.  She did, however, convince me to surprise Daddy with some holiday flavored Oreos with the hope that he would, you know, share with her.

With new tires installed on our little blue Neon, I buckled my baby and then my preschooler and we drove home listening to Andrea's favorite songs.  (Want U Back by Cher Lloyd and Just Give Me a Reason by P!nk, in case you have a child looking for some hip jams.)  Half an hour later I pulled up in front of the house.  Sam was starving and beginning to fuss.  Andrea was ready for a nap and begging to go potty.  I pulled the groceries out of the trunk and just as it latched shut something shiny caught my eye.  It was my keys fading into the darkness of my locked trunk.  My brain shut off and panic took over my body.  I ran around to the driver's seat and pulled the trunk release.  Nothing happened. I ran to the front door and twisted the door knob.  It was locked.  I bolted to the back yard and yanked fiercely on the back door.  Also locked.

I had to keep reminding myself to breathe as I walked back to the car.  Once Andrea was unbuckled she ran to the porch.  "I have to go potty!"  She reminded me.

"You need to hold it, Honey!  We're locked out of the house." I hollered back as I pulled out my phone to call Paul.  He didn't answer.  I tried again.  No answer.  I left a desperate voice mail before searching the internet for his office number.  Unfortunately, the battery on my phone was almost dead and my search was not going well.  Andrea continued to dance around in a rather suspicious manner so I promised her one of Daddy's cookies if she could just hold it a little longer.  She sat down in the grass with an Oreo in each hand and her complaints turned into quiet smacking.  I returned to my internet search but the panic I'd been feeling began to mount as that battery icon flashed.  The last thing I needed was to be locked out with two little children far away from family and friends and no way to contact anyone.  Did I mention I still don't know any of my neighbors?

With tears streaming down my face and the state of my daughter's bladder weighing on my mind, I called my mom.  As I relived the events of my afternoon I felt something wet on the arm I had wrapped around my son.  A yellow streak confirmed that his diaper had leaked onto his clothes and me.  Andrea finished her cookies and began to dance again.  While my mom googled Paul's work she asked me if the back seat of the car could fold down.

Why. Didn't. I. Think. Of. That?

I ran to the car to check and, sure enough,it did.  Holding my poopy boy under one arm I started pulling out car seats so I could crawl into the trunk and paw around in the dark for my keys.  When they were safely in my hands a wave of relief came over me until a little voice again requested a trip to the potty.

While we only sat outside the house for about twenty minutes, it was a rather exciting and unpleasant twenty minutes.  Memo to me:  Keep yo' keys in yo' pocket, you cray cray foo.  (Translate that if you have a teen in your life.)