For Janelle

Two summers ago, Avriana was a year and a half old.  She was just getting to that point when babies look around at their playpens like, "Your days are numbered, pal," and to their moms like, "Yours, too, lady.  Mwah-ha-ha!"  But I had her in the playpen in the living room while I went to my bedroom to continue my phone conversation with my mom (without the benefit of SpongeBob's overly exuberant "I'm ready! I'm ready!").  I closed the door for good measure. 

Then tried to get out again.  
                                                                            
Now a quasi-short dialogue:

Me:  "WhoamygoshMomIcan'tgetoutofmyroom!"  Yeah, all one speedy word--just like it looks. 

Mom:  "So I told her," *chuckle, chuckle,* "I told her--"

Me:  "Mom!  MOM!  Listen!  I really can't get out of my room!"

Mom:  "What do you mean you can't get out?  I don't know what that means."  Okay, in real life--just now, I stopped and laughed at that line all over again. 

Me:  "It means that I'm trying to turn the door knob and it's totally locked!"

Mom:  "Well, it doesn't lock from the outside, for crying out loud, so just  . . . unlock it!" 

Me:  "Uh, there is no lock on this door!"

Mom:  "WELL, THERE HAS TO BE, or it wouldn't be locked!  Are you sure?"

I'm all reefing on the door knob, trying to twist, turn, pry, kick, hi-yah, whatever.  All the while, TOTALLY freaked out that Miss Avriana Mwah-ha-ha Pants is fixin' to get out of her pen and explore the wide world of dangers without me.  Okay, no, I can't panic.  That NEVER does any good.

Mom:  "Mary?!  Are you still there?  What about Avriana?  What if she gets out?!  Do you want me to send your uncle over?" 

Me:  "Well, that's the good but bad part, Mom; I purposely and responsibly locked the front and back doors.  He can't get in."

Mom:  "Oh, I bet he could!"

Me:  "Okay, no thank you.  I'll figure this out."  If not before, now you're wondering where in the world James is, right?  Place?  Irrelevant.  So?  He wasn't able to help.  ;D

Mom:  "Okay, call me if you need me!  You just get to that baby!"

So there I was . . . clad in a ratty tank top and a pair of James's boxers.  VERY attractive.  It was already hot that day, but the sweat beads began to work overtime as I searched my room for something--I didn't know what.  Ah-ha!  Screwdriver!  Thank God James never puts anything away. 

Okay, now the door is just incredibly damaged.

I'm still stuck in here.  I can hear Avriana start to whimper.  Whoa, the lioness mom gear that'll kick in during such a point is phenomenal.

I said out loud: "Welp, I'm going to have to go through the window!"  I nearly threw my vanity, which blocked my targeted window, out of the way, tore the screen off the frame and then proceeded to stick my head out the window.  Wait!  Still in nothing but fancy tank top and ginormous boxers.  That can't be good.  (Busy neighborhood.)  So I shoved a pair of jeans on over my draws.  Now we're ready. 

I escaped my bedroom window easily enough.  (It's just over a four-foot drop from the bottom of the window sill to the ground.)  Okay, now, how do I get into the living room?  Off goes another screen.  Avriana is now looking at me through the living room window.  Bless her heart; she was still in her playpen!  Good girl!  I hollered, "Mama's coming for you, baby!"  I really said that.  What was I thinking, Lifetime movie?  Ew.

After I shoved the window up, I had no idea how to get in.  I mean, at first, I thought I'd just simply hoist myself up.  But . . . Noooo.  So not a fifteen-year-old gymnast anymore.  But it had to have been a pretty funny scene to any passersby at the moment.  The quickest trial and error ever. 

"Leverage," I mumbled, "I need . . . Ah-ha!  Deck chair!"  Easy enough, right?  Again: Noooo.  So now that I'm standing on this chair, I've got to figure out how to get over the metal sill without slicing my body precisely in half (paint dust and bruises were inevitable and accepted).  Avriana started to whimper again.  And the adrenaline returns for a third round.  JUST GO, GIRL!  Heave-hoooooo!

Next thing I knew, I was dangling from the window--one half inside, the other--much less flattering half--still exposed to the world outside.  James's boxers were all mushroomed out of the top of my jeans.  I looked like a bloomin' idiot.  I swear I heard chuckles from the ambiguous depths of my neighborhood. 

With one last burst of energy, I hauled my bunchy-boxers butt over the sill and dropped to the floor inside the living room.  And the best part? Avriana is now jumping up and down while laughing and clapping.  Perrrfect.



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Epilogue:


I nearly beat that door in trying to get it to open--from the outside now.  I even took an electric saw to it at one point.  Don't ask what I was thinking.  I think I just wanted to see how much more obstinate it could be.  It didn't budge.  I kicked it with the force of ten donkeys (the jackass that I was by then).  Nothing. I grabbed another screwdriver.  No.  A hammer?  No.  At this point, the poor door knob is nearly hanging off the door--I mean, I can now see that there IS a lock on the door, and the latch is faithfully tucked inside of its square little cubbyhole in the door frame. 
I finally gave up and decided to go get my neighbor (who is a carpenter) for help.  As I started to walk away, I looked back at my challenge with sad eyes.  I love a challenge--loathe losing.  I walked back over and tried to simply turn the knob in a normal, light fashion.  It popped right open.


God bless.