Some weeks just scream "I need to be blogged about" from a neon marquee sign. Or from the variety of strange and wonderful and semi-tragic things that happen. For instance, I was going to blog about this yesterday morning when I had a rare hour to myself, but it turns out that our printer picked THAT HOUR to not work (at 10 a.m., before my 11 o'clock science class) so I had to drive 20 minutes to my parents' house to print all the student papers I needed and then haul it to class (v. thankful that my parents live that close and that they don't mind bailing me out). I don't know if that qualifies now as strange, wonderful or semi-tragic, but it certainly felt like the world was dumping on me at the time. And it was 100%, par for the course, for my week.
Let me explain...
Tuesday morning dawned full of splendor and promise. We had a playdate planned with friends to pick strawberries and have lunch. In other words, a proverbial romp through the wildflowers. Everything was going great until I went into the closet to put on my rings and GASP only one (of three) was there. Lillian had, naturally, dragged a stool into the closet and had spent my showertime rummaging through my jewelry. I dropped to the carpet and managed to find my engagement ring stuffed into the tongue of a running shoe. This is when panic set in. L likes to play with my rings but has never a) separated them before or b)failed to bring them to me as soon as she was done playing. (sidenote: Thomas is not a big fan of this behavior and has gently cautioned me more than once to be more careful with my stuff. Duly noted, babe.) I spent the next 30 minutes tearing the closet apart, looking in every shoe, every stack of clothing, etc. No wedding band. The strawberry picking show must go on, however, so I tear out of the house, L in tow, with soaking wet hair and wearing who knows what. I didn't want to tell T, for obvious reasons, so I called my mom and begged her to come help me search in the afternoon. Being the fantastic lady that she is, she was willing to help. PHEW. Crisis postponed.
Strawberry picking was delightful. Lillian and her sweet friend Gretchen romped up and down the rows. L picked about 10 berries before she decided that the tractor ("chactow") and the copious amounts of dirt everywhere were way more interesting. "We" picked about 3 pounds of strawberries altogether and have been enjoying them all week.
Then we headed to lunch at Boone Hall to meet up with another friend and her baby boy. If L likes her baby brother half as much as she likes Jude, then we will be good to go in August. Lunch was great--kiddos ate and some amount of conversation was achieved (if I can string together 3 thoughts while handling L ate mealtime, then I feel I have achieved a great victory). So we're buckling up to go home when disaster strikes. I buckle L in, throw my keys in the front seat as I've done one million times before, shut the door and move to open my door.
It's locked. I immediately realized that I have managed to lock my sweet baby in the hot car with my keys and phone. Panic ensues.
I rush over to Meghan and start babbling about the hot car and LOCKED IN and no phone and who knows what else. She grabs Gretchen and her phone and calls highway patrol (no answer, so helpful) and then 911. Police are on their way. Some old people come stand by my car and "helpfully" explain why I should have OnStar and poke at my windows to see if we can jimmy them. Um, no. L, meanwhile, is chilling in the car seat, drinking milk and pointing at me when I poke my sweaty, growing more panicky by the minute, head in to look at her. I cannot explain how horrifying it is to be trapped on the other side of glass from your child, unable to do a dang thing or explain what is happening. HORRIBLE. L, however, is holding it together much better than I am. Agonizing minutes pass and Katie goes in to look for a hammer after attempting to console me with a distracting story (which was an excellent idea but I was just too far gone).
Then an enormous red fire truck rolls in, sirens blaring, and people start to come out of the store/restaurant to ascertain what is happening. Two very kind crew cuts ask me what's going on, look in at L (who is now pouring sweat) and tell me that they don't have tools but the police car who is on his way does. I attempt to calm down and give them my address and phone number--can't wait to see the charge for this one--and tell them to break the window. Fortunately the police showed up and one fancy door jimmying kit later, and L is free. She didn't cry until the last minute or so, unlike me, which I was so grateful for. I don't think I could have made it otherwise. We went in and got a cup of ice to cool her warm little body down and then headed home for a cool bath and some much-needed rest. I played her favorite song the whole way. She was completely fine. I was still a basket case and had to tell T over Gmail chat because I was too teary to do anything else. Pathetic!
Then mom came over to help look for the ring, which had not magically turned up. Boo. We spent two hours combing every square inch of the closet and bedroom. While we were at it, I came up with a bag of clothes to donate and an embarrassing amount of trash (seriously, if you need a humbling experience, just ask someone to come over and help you clean out a small messy space). No ring. Not anywhere. BUT we did have 2 hours of great conversation and she helped me calm down since I was pretty much still vibrating after the events of the early afternoon. She headed home, and then Thomas arrived home. L woke up just as he walked in the door, still unscathed from her unfortunate incarceration and raring to go.
Thomas' first move was to ask her, "Lillian, where did you put Mommy's ring?" She got a thoughtful look on her face, grabbed his hand, walked into the closet, and went to my shoe rack. Stuffing her little chubby fist under it, she immediately PULLS OUT THE RING and hands it to Thomas. Keep in mind that shoe rack had been taken apart and searched thoroughly. Oh, and L hadn't been in the closet for about eight hours. Oh, and she's 1. This kid has the memory of an elephant. Heaven help us. And Thomas was just a little pleased with himself for coming up with the solution. :)
To sum up: here are the lessons I learned on Tuesday:
1. Store expensive rings in jewelry box away from toddler (all of you are saying DUH in your heads right now and rightfully so).
2. When things go missing, ask the 1 year old first.
3. Never ever ever ever ever close all the doors when your child is in the car, even if you've done it millions of times.
4. In fact, put the keys in the ignition first.
5. Repeat #3.
6. Thank God for good friends who stand in hot parking lots with you and moms who help clean closets.
7. Remember that Wednesday is another day and smile gratefully at the Lord's provision.
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