Did I mention that the other day we got back from a lovely morning at the swimming pool. I put Sam and Bea inside. Bea went straight to bed she was so exhausted. It’s so adorable when I take her into her room, place her into her bed and she looks at me, sticks her fingers in her mouth and closes her precious eyes. Sam was demanding ice lollipops and I blew him off. That kid would happily eat an entire freezer full of lollipops and still not be satisfied. I popped outside to grab the bags and wet clothes from the car and multitask with Bill who called as I was grabbing our kit from the boot.
Returning to the front door I was happily gabbing away to Bill until I went to open the screen door and it wouldn’t budge. Sam had locked me out.
We don’t have a key to the back door.
I couldn’t get in.
Here is where I start panicking because my baby is asleep in her room on her own, and my crazy three year has the run of the house, and I can’t get to him.
I tried knocking on the door to get Sam to answer.
Oh great. He’s locked the main door, behind the screen door, and now he’s in tears and crying because he can’t unlock it, open it and get me. I hear escalating tears and sobs from behind the shaking door as I frantically tell Bill what a pickle I am in.
I’m beginning to really freak out and start to try to prise the bug netting away from the screen door and to hell with the landlady, except I’m not making a dent and can’t get in.
In desperation I ended up giving the door a jolly good yank and many a shake. I was so never so relieved as when the metal catch gave way first and I could get to the interior door to put the key in the latch, turn it and be with my babies again.