Well, almost.

So I recently pontificated lavishly about my silly adventures at the new gym and how I was older and bolder and incapable of being embarassed.

One of my first posts last year was about how I locked my infant in the car in the parking lot of daycare.

I cringe as I choose to share this goofy little story about my unfortunate state of misfortune when it comes to luck, timing, coordination... knowing full well that a few of my followers who haven't known me for very long are shaking their heads and thinking, 'Yikes - disaster-waiting-to-happen!' For your pure enjoyment, people...

It's Tuesday afternoon and I am off from work tending to a snuggly, feverish, little bear... barking since midnight with the croupy cough . I arrived in the driveway around lunchtime after the doctor's appointment where little man received a shot. Boy was he ticked. See, he thought that we just went to see Dr. M. for teh-teez and stiterz (a.k.a. cookies and stickers.) And there, they go ahead and stick him with a sharp instrument and make him cry. He even used the boo-boo pouty lip (arguably, the world record holder for cutest) and that did not save him. I can see the confusion.

Right, so I pulled in (toddler sleeping thank goodness) and get all the crap out of the car (purse, book, diaper bag, etc...) and take it up to the door, put said crap down because I always try to carry too much. Remind me to tell you about carrying too much and getting whalloped in the cranium with the screen door. That was probably concussion-worthy. I'd know, because I got one the time I reached into the dog's kennel to straighten her blanket and lifted my head up to quickly and bashed it on the metal frame. There are more, but we'll save those for another day. Family and friends are nodding their little heads in unison, 'True dat!'

I start to feel around for my house key, which has been typically travelling in the front pocket of my purse because it broke. It was the cool kind with the flashlight top and that cracked and it fell off of my key chain. Bummer. Neither the husband nor I have taken the extra effort to make a new one, so, it travels. But guess what? No key. I searched all twelve cavernous pockets of my purse, looked in every crevasse of the car. Nope. Really. Gone. Al l righty then. Toddler was blissfully asleep in the car still, door open with plenty of air flow, thank you very much... with flashbacks of the daycare locked-out caper and imagining the local police, social services and the local shock TV news station showing up to make me into the next Tanning Mom. "Mom locks self and sick child out of home then leaves child in car with strong-smelling air freshener, apparently due to spoiled chocolate milk sippy that slipped underneath the front seat - live from the scene at 11!

The text to my sister when something like this: "Oh, *&^%$, I am locked out." Her response: "Of where?" Like she was very afraid to ask and even more frightened of the answer. Why I decided to text her is both obvious and ridiculous - she was an hour and a half away and in no position to help anytime soon, but we always text each other about everything and anything that the other would find remotely funny, ironic, stupid or ridiculous. The situation I had just created for myself was more than ridiculous.

The call to the in-laws (thank my lucky stars) when something like this: "Hiiiiiieeeey. Soooo, what are you guys up to??? Where are you? Hmmm, that is nice, ok, weeeellllll... do you think that maybe you could come over real quick because I locked myself out of the house. Mother-in-Law's response: "Yep, we're 25 minutes away - we'll be there as fast as we can." SO. LOVE. THEM.

The call to the husband went something like this: "Hiiiieeeey. How are you? Mmmm-hmmm. Good. Soooo, could you please text the next door neighbor and tell him that we are not being robbed but that I have simply left my house key on the kitchen counter and I am now going to shove my a$$ through the window, by way of the tall ladder that was in the garage. No, yes, no - he's ok... sleeping. Yes, I called them, but can you call and tell them that I am going to crawl through the window? Ha-ha, very funny. Ok, love you too. Bye."

Sooo, while I pondered about who was outside and could see me and whether or not I could physically complete this mission, I picked up after the dog in the back yard, straightened a few things in the garage, pulled a few weeds in the flower bed and then, the conversation with myself went something like this: "Ditz of the decade! You can do this. You birthed two children and an entire hospital saw things that shall never be mentioned again. You can shove your butt through that window, neighbors watching or not and open the freaking door." 

And that is what I did. If I were re-telling these antics in person, it would be in a dramatic whisper. Just getting you in the spirit.  I was quick and gazelle like, the most graceful shimmy up the ladder and side-ways crouch and lean into that window anyone had every scene. When I mean anyone, I am assuming that at least two neighbors were cracking up at my agile performance. Bruno and Carrie would have given me a 10 for sure. The NatGeo network would have documented my moves and possibly offered a reality show. 'Woman and Child Alone on a Weekday Locked Out of Home'.
I know. So ridiculous. Now doesn't that make your week seem better already? It's the weekend, friends.

Enjoy!