Erratic toddler's power to terrify

By BRIDGET HALL GRUMET, Mommy Track
Published December 10, 2007

Two guys from Pasco Fire Rescue looked around my house and decided the side door into the garage was their best bet. They took out their tools and began to take the door off its hinges, while their supervisor attempted to jimmy open the back sliding glass door with a flat-headed screwdriver.

I stood outside with them, anxious and humiliated.

"Two-year-olds show you what they're capable of at the most inopportune times," I said to one of the rescuers, who was kind enough to chuckle.

I had stepped outside for just a few seconds last Monday morning to wheel our empty garbage can from the curb to the side of the garage. But when I tried to come back inside, the front door wouldn't budge.

My stomach tightened and my heart started pounding as I realized my son Toby had just locked me out of the house.

A fine time he picked to demonstrate this new skill.

Through the windows, I could see my kids were okay. My daughter Kaitlyn, just 11 weeks old, was strapped securely in her bouncer seat and seemed reasonably content. And Toby, wandering around the living room with his toy hammer in one hand, flashed me a sweet smile that seemed positively puckish under the circumstances.

I know he had no idea what he had just done. But I could've strangled him just the same.

I knocked and knocked, pleading through the door for Toby to let me in. Then I went around to the sliding glass door - why couldn't this have been one of those days I accidentally left it unlocked? - again begging my toddler to help.

Toby just grinned and joined me in knocking on the glass, like it was all some wonderful game.

As every parent knows, little children - as lovable as they are - have a way of bringing you to your knees. A tantrum at the supermarket sends you scrambling for anything - Ninja turtle? Goldfish crackers? - to appease them. You agree to read Cinderella for the 47th time this week because your child demands it. Simply getting the kid to take that pre-bedtime bath without a meltdown becomes an exhilarating accomplishment.

These are all small prices to pay for the moments of wonder and joy they bring to our lives. Still, of all my misadventures in motherhood, getting locked out of the house by my 2-year-old takes the cake.

Terribly humbled, I went next door and borrowed the phone to call a locksmith. The locksmith told me that because small children were locked inside, I'd have to call Fire Rescue.

So I dialed 911, feeling like Pasco's worst mother about to turn herself in.

The fire truck arrived a few minutes later, and the responders were understanding and efficient. Within moments they pried a way inside. I swept Kaitlyn into a reassuring hug, then put my hand on Toby's shoulder and asked if he was okay.

"Yeah!" he chirped, unfazed.

Little punk.

Bridget Hall Grumet can be reached at bgrumet@sptimes.com.

[Last modified December 10, 2007, 01:07:48]