Why Won’t the Doorknob Turn?!
Today was one of those days when I’d lived enough life by the time I got to the church that I might should’ve thrown in the towel on the day, and then I lived four times as much when I got there.
It’s Wednesday. On Wednesday I go in late and spend the morning with the boys because they’re going to be either in the church nursery or at the CDC until choir is over at 7:30 and, well, they deserve my morning time at least.
This morning I was awakened by Cooper singing “Let it Go” at the top of his lungs from his bed which caused Aiden to stir. 7:00. We didn’t have to leave until 10:45. All of this was a good thing. We took our time this morning. Breakfast. Clothes. Preschool bags. I changed my clothes 4 times. We watched Toy Story and ate blueberries. We hung out. Around 9:45 I decided to go ahead and do my make-up and hair so I went to the bathroom and closed the door. If I leave the door open, Aiden comes in and he can reach the flat-iron chord. So, I generally straighten a few segments of hair and then check on the boys. It takes forever but everyone is safe and accounted for this way.
This morning my secretary was texting me about someone being in the hospital at Lourdes so when I went into the bathroom, I brought my phone (thanks be to God).
As I was answering Sue, halfway through straightening my hair, I went to check on the boys. I turned the doorknob. It would only turn halfway. I turned it again……and again……and again. It was stuck. It had been doing this for a while but I’d always been able to get it open. Not this time. I was stuck.
I’m the girl that won’t ride elevators because I’m claustrophobic. Let’s add that the house doesn’t have central air and the flat iron had been on so the anxiety that was only getting greater plus the condition of the situation……I was hot, panicky, and worried about the kids.
I texted Sue. “Sue, I’m locked in my bathroom.” She laughed. I don’t think she realized how real the situation was. “No really. The knob won’t turn.” She said, “Do you need me to come? My purse is in my hand.”
I called the landlord who lives next door and has a key to my house, a dozen times. Busy. Um, landline? Mercy.
Here come the tears.
Sue texts: “Mandee (church member……friend) is on the way. She made spare keys when she made you keys to the house.”
Breathe.
I heard the boys outside the door. Luckily Cooper thinks me banging on the door is a game and he engages. Luckily Mandee drives, er….skillfully and busts me out of the bathroom. The boys are fine. She helps me finish getting them ready and in the car for school. I desperately want to pause and have a big “expel the emotions” crying fit but, well, there’s no time and I could go without.
Before I got in the car, I gave Mandee a hug after which she informed me that my shirt was inside out. Ugh. Whatever.
I got the boys to school at 10:45, received some direction from the front desk, and took Cooper to his class. We walked in his room in time to see all the classroom children lined up to go outside……in their swimsuits. I’d missed the memo on “water play” day. Apparently that’s every Wednesday. Cooper played in seersucker shorts…..
I settled Aiden in his class.
By the time I got to church I was worn. Seriously. My hands were sore from fighting with the doorknob and they still feel a bit raw. My stomach was turning a bit from being stuck in a small, hot place. I was thankful, though, that nothing happened to Cooper and Aiden and that the people at the church really care about me and would, and will, at the drop of a hat come running.
All of this BEFORE the work day began. It was really a good day. I spent 5 hours making some great visits, worked on a thorough membership audit with a member, went to lunch with “the guys,” and went to choir. It wasn’t a bad day. I picked up the boys at 7:30 — they were happy, healthy, clean, well-fed, and tired.
Just…..ugh. This pastormom doesn’t need the added drama of house malfunctions. Seriously. There’s enough going on in this house. But I guess if the drama has to happen, at least it’s good to know that people really do care. I guess the village isn’t just for the boys. Maybe it’s my village too.
