Picture Day

I used to think it was normal parenting behavior to spend every waking moment brainstorming horrific random things that could happen to your kids.

“So, what about being attacked by a family of jellyfish?” My friends stared at me like I had a tap dancing chimp on my head. “Sinkholes filled with alligators?” I asked hopefully.

You might say I'm a worrier. And I thought I had run through every possible emergency parenting scenario and how I would react – always emerging the hero, obviously – in my head, but that's the thing about being a parent. You're all ready to push your kid out from under a falling tree branch and then a runaway Shriner car jumps the curb and flies into the parade crowd.

Yesterday morning I was getting my three little girls ready for preschool. Getting three little girls ready for preschool is like trying to put princess underwear on a tornado. Hair flying here, teeth flying there, coming to blows over who gets to wear the Cinderella shoes even though they leave bloody blisters.

So it's not uncommon to have chaos abound for about an hour and a half, yet somehow everyone still emerges from the mini van in one piece and I look to be in relatively stable mental condition. However, yesterday, in the midst of the pandemonium, I was in my bedroom administering my morning dose of Zoloft when I heard their bathroom door slam shut.

Now, this is not unusual as my one-year-old has recently become obsessed with slamming doors shut, toes and fingers be damned.

But then I heard it lock.

I calmly walked over and called through the door to my 4-year-old.

“Ellie honey, can you unlock the door?” I said, jiggling the handle.

“Umm, no, I can't,” she said with the same inflection I use when she asks if we can get a pony.
 
This wasn't the first time something like this has happened. Last year Ellie locked herself in our guest bedroom and I promptly remedied the situation by removing the door knob with a screwdriver.

However, this particular door knob, the one on their bathroom door, is original to our house. And since our house was built when God was a boy and they had bigger things to worry about than kids locking themselves in the bathroom, I slowly came to realize that there was no way for me to fix this problem from the hallway. And all three girls were locked in.

My mind raced. Karate kick the door down? Climb up on the roof and repel SWAT style through the window? The panic started to set in. What if my one-year-old gets into the bathtub? What if they mess up my intricate system of bow organization? I kicked at the door hinge with my heel. This is not how I imagined this going in my head when I imagined myself saving my kids from random horrific things.

Okay... now it's confession time. And I'm going to tell you this because we're friends and friends don't judge each other. Friends just nod their heads and say, “oh I totally understand,” and then they run home and tell their husbands what awful parents their friends are.

Obviously my first and foremost concern was for their safety. I mean, my biggest fear in life is ending up on the Today Show as public parenting enemy #1. So there's that.

But also... it was school picture day. And if you have three girls you understand exactly what I'm talking about. More coordination goes into school picture day than the Beijing Olympics opening ceremony and I'll be damned if there is not public documentation that I washed their hair.

This made it a true crisis. An I'm-calling-my-husband crisis.

“Hello?”

“NICK! OH MY GOD JKLDSKLJF%^&$*WIEURI%^&#(OUMSEIRUOHFAHS!W^SJKSLJFL!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!”

“Which bathroom?”

I immediately appreciated how Timmy's parents understood Lassie was telling them he was in the well.

After a few minutes on the phone with my husband I realized I had to go to my last resort. The one I try to avoid at all cost because I do not want any professional government record of my parenting fails.

“911, what's your emergency?”

“I would like to begin by stating that I am an exceptional parent. You know, for the record and all. I am planning to prepare a healthy breakfast consisting of at least two food groups for my children this morning. Also I buy the expensive kind of diapers and always point out farm animals on the side of the road.”

“Your kids locked themselves in the bathroom didn't they.”

“Uh huh.”

“Someone will be right there.”

“Please hurry. It's picture day.”

I hung up, pressed my ear against the door and listened. Silence.

“EVERYONE STILL OKAY?” I yelled into the key hole.

“Yes now stop asking us that, okay?”

Silence.
 
I looked at my watch.
   
“HEY, YOU KNOW... WHILE YOU'RE IN THERE – YOU SEE THAT TOOTHPASTE ON THE SHELF? GENTLY SQUEEZE A LITTLE ON THE TOOTHBRUSH. GOOD, GOOD. NOW JUST FOCUS ON YOUR TWO FRONT TEETH.”

I heard someone get in the bathtub.

“Ellie is everyone okay?”

“Yes. Lila and Hadley are playing with the shampoo.”

“Okay, Ellie. Now listen closely to me. If you unlock the door I will give you some choco-"

Click. * door swings open *

"-late.”

“Where's my chocolate?”

“911 what's your emergency?”

“Hi there! Me again. You can eighty-six my last call. We're good.”

“You used the chocolate trick, didn't you.”

Walking out to the van that morning I gave the rope swing an extra hard tug and noticed some leaves fall down off the dying branch.

“Mom, what are you doing?”

“Oh, just making sure it's nice and ready for you.”