A typical Monday night for me involves dropping Miles off at dance and then finding somewhere to entertain Emerson for an hour while we wait. On this particular Monday night, I was excited to take him to the local coffee shop to share a bit of time together. I opened the passenger door, threw my keys into the driver’s seat, unlocked all the doors, opened the back door, put Emerson in his carseat, unlocked all the doors again, and then closed the doors. Except I hadn’t unlocked the doors the second time. I locked them. With my kid AND MY KEYS inside! I had won my Mother of the Year award.
To my credit, I did not panic. I didn’t cry. I didn’t scream or freak out. I just called my husband to ask what I should do. He works late on Monday nights teaching a class, so I figured he’d tell me to call the insurance company for a locksmith. Instead (after some choice words), he said he had just enough time to drive to town to unlock the doors for me. His work to the ballet studio is about a twenty minute drive, so it was time for me to get creative.
I began playing peek-a-boo with Emerson to keep him entertained. He thought it was hilarious…for about three minutes. When he started to freak out, I thought I’d try to teach him to undo his carseat so he could unlock the doors himself. In hindsight, teaching a two-year-old how to unbuckle himself was probably a terrible idea. Can you imagine driving down the highway when he decides to pop himself out and wander around the van? Stupid idea. Thankfully, he couldn’t figure out how to unbuckle his seat. However, he was still pissed.
I was jumping and making faces to entertain him so he would stop screaming when a lady walking her dog wandered over. I’m sure she thought I was an absolute crazy person, so I explained to her what I was doing. She tried to help out by showing Emerson her dog and trying to pry the back window open. She was very nice. I never caught her name, but thank you anonymous lady who didn’t completely judge me for being Mother of the Year (at least not outwardly).
Finally, I had a genius idea. I opened Netflix on my phone, turned on Emerson’s favorite show, and turned the volume up all the way. Then, I held my phone directly against the window. He immediately stopped screamed. Tears dried up. He was a happy camper. My husband showed up not long after (he must have sped almost the entire way home, because it only took him fifteen minutes to get to us.) Later that night I texted my best friend: “Sorry friend. I won mother of the year tonight. You’re out of the running. Maybe next year.” Sorry to all the mothers out there. I’ve clinched the title. The trophy is in the mail.
*Just a note: I am very grateful I wasn’t so stupid midwinter or midsummer. It was a nice 55 degree day. No danger of my kiddo overheating or freezing.