theclumsyredhead.com

If you’re like me, and chances are, you’re lucky enough NOT to be, you watched way too much t.v. as a kid, so you have a warped way at looking at the world. I can make references to just about any t.v. show ever made. See that blog title up there? I’ve never seen one episode, but I know what it’s about. Okay, so it’s not that difficult to figure out, but still.

Anyhoo, so here’s my story: Jack has recently discovered how to lock a door. He does not, however, know how to unlock a door. You can see where this is going, right? So, last week we were in his room, playing with cars when my coffee kicked in. I sauntered across the hall into the bathroom, leaving Jack in his bedroom to throw his cars from one side of the room to the other (“They go faster that way, Mama!”) and take care of my business. I had turned the doorknob around on his bedroom door so he could  no longer lock himself in, so I had no qualms about leaving him for two minutes.

I heard him close the door to his room (he has a thing about open doors) and run down the hall to my bedroom and slam the door. I finished as quickly as I could and walked down the hall only to discover – that’s right – he had locked the door. Now, not really a big deal, except that we have a spiral staircase with an open loft in our bedroom (very retro, no?) and since my children have been known to fall down from a standing position, I was a bit worried.

“Jack,” I said in a very sing-songy voice. “Jaaa-aack, open the door.” Because he’s somehow learned how to do that in the last 30 seconds, I guess. No response. “Jackie, please open the door for Mama.” Nothing.

“JACK, OPEN THE DOOR,” this was through clenched teeth, not yelling. And then, a sickening thump. The first thing that popped into my mind is that scene from “Almost Famous.” I pictured Jack at the top of the railing on the loft, declaring that he is in fact a golden god and diving onto our lower-end carpet (came with the house) instead of a full swimming pool. Jack can’t swim, so either way, it’s a bad scene. “JACK!” Now, I yelled. No response.

I don’t know how to pick a lock, and even if I did, I don’ think I would have had the presence of mind to go and find something to fit in that stupid little hole and pop it open. I immediately kicked the door open to find, lying in a pool of its own literature, a dictionary. Jack, hands behind his back, glasses low on his nose, was standing up in the loft, looking down at the book he had assaulted.

I didn’t yell at him. I hugged him. I told him I loved him and that if he ever locked a door again, I would take every door in the house off of its hinges, which would be really awkward for him when he hits his teenage years. And then I reflected on how AWESOME it was that I kicked in a door, just like hundreds of t.v. cops have done in almost every cop show ever made. One freaking kick and it was open.

I need help.

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