Yesterday morning I stepped out on the front porch with Dylan right behind me. I had the bath mat in hand and was beginning to give it a good shake when BOOM! The front door slammed shut behind us. It was locked.
Cooper was inside alone.
I had no key to get in.
Oh no oh no oh no.
I made a mad dash to my neighbor Sharon's, praying she was home. They have an extra key of ours for such emergencies. She was home. But the key couldn't be found.
I'd had an extra key made for us, just for this purpose, but life has been so...distracting...lately, I'd hung it up inside the house and forgotten about it. The two closest family members who could come to my rescue were each at least half an hour away.
All the windows were locked. At least the alarm system was disarmed. So I did what a good Grandma had to do. I broke in to my own house. But...the window I was able to break had a good 5-6 foot drop to the floor. So I did what a good Grandma would do. I dropped. And I hit hard. But I got inside and rescued my little two-year-old grandson. Who was waiting at the gate at the top of the stairs. Who said, "Hi, Ahma!" and smiled at me as I arrived at the top of them and heaved myself over the gate. Nothing had fazed him. All the excitement had been happening outside!
But me...I was a wreck. I had a good cry. I had a very good cry, the woman who rarely, if ever, cries.
And the key? It's hidden. Outside.