For some inexplicable reason our downstairs half bath has a keyed lock. Apparently we are really worried about privacy violations in our powder room. In six years of home ownership it has never occurred to us that we might need the key to this super sturdy lock, so after about 7 seconds of confinement, the Mush got hysterical and we started tearing the house apart trying random keys. We own a ridiculous amount of keys. None of these keys unlocked this bathroom. To add to the drama, I think it needs to be noted that my energy efficient electrician husband also installed power saving motion sensor light switches in our house, so someone (me) would stop leaving lights on and "throwing our money out the window." This means that whenever you leave a room or sit really really still the lights go out. The lights also go out if you are unnaturally short, like a certain Mushy, and are not tall enough to activate the motion sensor. Cue the hysteria. So, with the background of a screaming two year old, we decided to abandon the key plan and switch to the breaking and entering plan. It looks so easy on TV. Surely two semi-smart adults with fully developed brains can break into a bathroom. Nope. Matt is a pretty handy guy, but after a solid hour of trying a myriad of ideas from coat hangers to power drills, we were still talking to a nutso Hudson through a bathroom door. So close, yet so far. He was pretty much inconsolable. I tried to amuse him by sliding an Elmo book under the door. It was immediately and angrily slid back. Matt was kind enough to point out that even in the best of circumstances Hud is rarely amused by books, so seeing his point, I switched to cookies. While Matt worked on the lock, I kept the cookies flowing under the door and he was somewhat soothed. The only breaks in his cries came whenever it was time to stuff another cookie down his gullet or whenever it struck his fancy to flush the toilet for the millionth time.
Finally, after almost an hour and a half, Matt just decided to break the stupid thing down. Who knew what kind of trauma was being inflicted on our two year old, locked in a small dark room with only cookies and toilet paper to keep him company. We then started the enormous task of trying to talk him into backing away from the door. With our outstanding luck, Matt would bust the door down and knock our kid unconscious in the process. This is not a big bathroom, so I very clearly instructed Hudson to stand back against the wall and away from the door. I got a very sad and tiny, "Okay Mommy." But just as Matt reared back to start busting, two tiny hands would poke out from under the door. So we tried again. This time we were more specific, "Hudson go stand behind the potty and stay there so Daddy can get you out. Do. You. Understand?" " Yes, Mommy. I get out now." Okay, ready to start the demo. No, wait, there are his hands again and now one foot. Good grief, this kid cannot follow directions! Matt decided to give the door a warning hit, hoping that the sound would scare him into the corner. No, the warning hit just prompted him to wiggle the locked door handle and remind us, "I get out now Daddy?" Like, maybe after all this fun, we had forgotten that the goal was to get him out. Eventually, with my constant supervision and opinion, Matt managed, through a series of tiny yet powerful hits, to create a large enough hole and stick his hand through to unlock the door.
Oh sweet freedom! When we opened the door and the lights came on (thanks to those handy dandy sensors) we weren't sure what to expect. It was like pulling baby Jessica out of the well. He might as well have spent 90 days instead of minutes in that stupid bathroom. In all his anxiety, he felt it necessary to completely disrobe. At least attempt to disrobe. (Who am I kidding here, there isn't an emotion in the spectrum where Hudson doesn't feel it appropriate to disrobe) He got everything off except his shirt which got stuck on his giant head. So when the light of day was shed on our poor captive son, he was nude except for what looked like a veil holding his hair back His face was tear stained and there was chocolate and toilet paper everywhere. What did he say? "Thank you Daddy. I stuck." Oh crap. We felt like the worst parents ever. Who knows what kind of psychological damage he'll be working out in therapy down the road.
But I can't worry about that now. We have the slightly more pressing issue of a missing bathroom door in a house that is currently (yes still) for sale. With the way our luck is running we will have a ton of people show up to see it and think that we are some kind of weird pervy family that won't allow guests to use the bathroom in privacy. Yep, we are so like that.
No comments:
Post a Comment