While I was putting a load of laundry in, Zoë locked Alexander in my bedroom.
Not that we can prove that. When I asked her who locked the door she said, "Me. But the lock is on Alexander's side so it could have been him, too. Like, it didn't have to be me."
So I think that means she did it but like the good little lawyer she is, she's building a case for reasonable doubt. Like, sure, it was her...but was it though?
Anyway, I started looking around the house to find something long and thin to pick the lock with. I found a long nail but it was too fat. I found a mini screwdriver but it was too short. Finally I found our set of long, thin screwdrivers and selected one that fit through the hole in the knob and connected with the lock mechanism. And then I set to work picking that lock.
I poked, I prodded, I jiggled, I jaggled.
No luck.
Meanwhile, Alexander is crying and pounding on the door and Zoë's starting to feel awfully bad about the distress she's caused.
"It's okay, baby boy!" she sang while she stroked the door. "We're going to get you out of there. Can you just turn the lock? Just turn the lock, okay, baby?"
"Doo-ooo-ooo-ooor!" Alexander wailed.
Zoë ran off to her room and came back with her (old, retired) iPhone blasting primary songs and stuffed it under the door to Alexander.
"To help him feel better," she sniffed.
I tried picking the lock some more but to no avail.
Fortunately (?I mean, my preference would have been to not have to be fixing this problem?) we have some contractors at our house today, fixing up our leaky basement, otherwise I don't know what I would have done. My phone was locked in the bedroom with Alexander, so I didn't have any way to contact anyone and, honestly, there are very few people at home in our neighbourhood during the day. So I went outside and awkwardly communicated to the contractors, who speak only Spanish, that my baby was locked in a bedroom.
"Can one of you help me? My baby is locked in a bedroom. Mi hijo. La puerta. *holding an imaginary doorknob and using the screwdriver to make unlocking motions* No puedo."
Come on, Duolingo! You're failing me!
But, whatever, we figured it out and one of them very kindly climbed out of the trench he'd been digging in my yard, pulled off his muddy boots, tramped up my stairs, and jimmied the lock. It took him a few minutes, so it must have been at least a little tricky to do.
"What happened, baby?" he asked Alexander when the door popped open (which made me think of this video that was making the rounds in the Twitterverse a while ago).
And Alexander cried, "Momma!" and ran into my arms.
And I sighed, "Gracias!"
And now everything is back to normal. But we're still not sure who locked the door. Like, it could have been anybody, really.
(And apparently I should practice unlocking these doors, preferably not when my baby is stuck screaming on the other side).
Not that we can prove that. When I asked her who locked the door she said, "Me. But the lock is on Alexander's side so it could have been him, too. Like, it didn't have to be me."
So I think that means she did it but like the good little lawyer she is, she's building a case for reasonable doubt. Like, sure, it was her...but was it though?
Anyway, I started looking around the house to find something long and thin to pick the lock with. I found a long nail but it was too fat. I found a mini screwdriver but it was too short. Finally I found our set of long, thin screwdrivers and selected one that fit through the hole in the knob and connected with the lock mechanism. And then I set to work picking that lock.
I poked, I prodded, I jiggled, I jaggled.
No luck.
Meanwhile, Alexander is crying and pounding on the door and Zoë's starting to feel awfully bad about the distress she's caused.
"It's okay, baby boy!" she sang while she stroked the door. "We're going to get you out of there. Can you just turn the lock? Just turn the lock, okay, baby?"
"Doo-ooo-ooo-ooor!" Alexander wailed.
Zoë ran off to her room and came back with her (old, retired) iPhone blasting primary songs and stuffed it under the door to Alexander.
"To help him feel better," she sniffed.
I tried picking the lock some more but to no avail.
Fortunately (?I mean, my preference would have been to not have to be fixing this problem?) we have some contractors at our house today, fixing up our leaky basement, otherwise I don't know what I would have done. My phone was locked in the bedroom with Alexander, so I didn't have any way to contact anyone and, honestly, there are very few people at home in our neighbourhood during the day. So I went outside and awkwardly communicated to the contractors, who speak only Spanish, that my baby was locked in a bedroom.
"Can one of you help me? My baby is locked in a bedroom. Mi hijo. La puerta. *holding an imaginary doorknob and using the screwdriver to make unlocking motions* No puedo."
Come on, Duolingo! You're failing me!
But, whatever, we figured it out and one of them very kindly climbed out of the trench he'd been digging in my yard, pulled off his muddy boots, tramped up my stairs, and jimmied the lock. It took him a few minutes, so it must have been at least a little tricky to do.
"What happened, baby?" he asked Alexander when the door popped open (which made me think of this video that was making the rounds in the Twitterverse a while ago).
And Alexander cried, "Momma!" and ran into my arms.
And I sighed, "Gracias!"
And now everything is back to normal. But we're still not sure who locked the door. Like, it could have been anybody, really.
(And apparently I should practice unlocking these doors, preferably not when my baby is stuck screaming on the other side).
Yikes! Thank goodness for the helpful worker at your house today! Glad it turned out well. :)
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