Locked up. Or at least out.
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My roommates are on vacation. My roommates, who also are known in this crowded house as my counsel, our generous benefactors of invaluable advice and unlimited microwaveable mac & cheese, my early morning co-parents and mid-afternoon co-op picker-uppers, our landlords, my confidants and reality checkers...oh, and my parents. Those guys are on their way to somewhere sunny and sandy and where the grating song from Dragon Tales cannot be heard.
They're retired and they've been housing us for nearly four months, so they deserve to listen to the waves lapping against the white sand just beyond their rental condo patio. Even though a snow drift is steadily covering the front steps here and the temperatures have dropped to the point that I'm considering pulling on wool socks under my clicky clicky boots, I am happy for their travels south.
They will be snowbirds and we will be shoveling snow. It is also an opportunity for Lil E and I to go it alone and to see how we do together. I've been focusing on this -- on the opportunity of this break -- on how I want to work things without grandpa to handle breakfast while I hop in the shower or grandma to take-over nap time resistance while I finish one last post. And this is what I was centering on yesterday, Day One of Operation Fingers Crossed.
It started off great with Lil E playing quietly while I showered and then having a triumphant day of pretend fire-fighting and napping and snacking at daycare.
The it was off to a friends house for dinner (for us all), Thomas the Train playing (for the kids) and a big glass of merlot (for the parents). I purposely planned that pizza night playdate to fill up our evening with enough distraction and melted cheese so we wouldn't think about the quiet house waiting for us. And it worked like a charm. The boys played and we all pizzaed and we left for home tired and tummies full and happy.
On the ride home, Lil E and I decided he'd kick off his layers of winter wear and the snow from his boots, have one more cookie and then take a nice, warm bath. We talked about making another pizza night playdate for next week and as I yawned, I caught him in the rear view mirror doing the same.
And that's where the magic ended.
Minutes later, I slid the key into the bolt on the front door, gave it a little push to the stubborn lock that sticks even when it isn't 42-below-zero (or whatever the dial was teetering as it got dark last night). When it didn't open, I took a breath, remembering that it sometimes needs a little release and finesse to open. So...inhale, exhale, key in, turn, key out. Oh wait. Key out...WITH THE ENTIRE CYLINDER OF THE LOCK.
Fuuuuuuuuuuck.