You know that thing that people pass around to mothers of boys. The one about the average response time of the San Antonio fire department is 5 minutes. Since I am the mother to a boy I get this thing all the time. Of course it is always sent to me by a friend who isn’t the mother to a boy. They think it’s all funny and stuff, but you know… you just can’t make that shit up. My son’s grandfather taught him that a ceiling fan makes a great baseball bat. However we never turn the fan on for fear of the incessant “round and round and round and….” You have to know my child. So he just throws random objects at the ceiling fan for the fun of it. Lord help me this summer when our house is a sweltering 102 degrees and I have to turn the fan on. I best put the glass repair guy on speed dial. Just to be safe.
Now television is something that I never watch during the day. I don’t need Dr. Dumbass telling me that I need to grow a spine. I know my fashion sense is something to be desired for, but I really don’t want skinny models telling me how to dress. Come on, show someone with an ass the size of Texas and then I might start to take your advice. Either way, I got bored this morning and rather than doing the laundry like I should have been doing I sat down to watch TV. I got sucked in my Real Housewives of Orange County. You see why I don’t watch TV in the middle of the day. As I sat there wasting what few brain cells I have left I once again noticed that my two year old occupied house was far to quiet. Gawd I hate it when that happens. It only means that something is broken or I have to tell him, “no, it isn’t ok eat the cat food.”
Once again my bedroom door was closed. Try the handle. Locked. The child locked himself in our bedroom. I am not kidding here people. And this isn’t a simple push button lock. It is a turn the thing lock. I start pounding on the door. “Please open the door.” I only hear screams from the other side. They were pissed screams of “how dare you disturb my ransacking of your room woman.” I frantically called the trusty husband. His great advice was to get a screwdriver to put in the door knob and unlock it. That’s all well and good, but all the screwdrivers that would fit in the hole were in the bedroom with the child. As a last resort I started to remove the door knob from the door. That’s when the boy came and nicely unlocked the door.
The child is only 2. I have a long way to go people. A loooong way to go.