What started as simple game of hide and seek managed to turn itself into a call to duty for "Ninja Mommy." How does an innocent child's game end up in panic and drama? The key player is one precocious, independent and highly rebellious two year old. Kaleb is a handful, no actually Kaleb is an armful. No, no, wrong again, Kaleb is a truck full. That seems about right.
Kaleb and I switch off being the chaser and the chased. Only Kaleb forgot when he was supposed to be finding me, and decided to do his own Houdini act. So I held my ground hiding under the comforter ready to pop out and holler 'peekaboo!' until I heard the bathroom door shut.
The bathroom is a place of curiosity for Kaleb. It holds many of his favorite things, his singing potty, the bathtub and MY toothbrush. Oh and the built-in theme of acceptable nudity is a particular favorite for him. This kid loves to be naked.
I jump to the chase to go retrieve him before he wreaks too much havoc, since he shouldn't have been able to enter in the first place. On the ground I spot the two halves of the safety lock for the door. If you can't figure out how to make it work just take it off, I suppose. I knock on the door and he giggles.
I turn the knob, but it doesn't move. No. No. This isn't happening. How does a two year old lock a door!?
"Kaleb, honey, move it back."
Giggles.
"Kaleb, mommy can't get you if you don't open the door."
More giggles.
"Kaleb. Open the door. It's not funny."
He tries to turn the knob.
"Mama!"
It's not fun anymore. He wants me to open the door. But I'm on the wrong side to be in control of that situation. I'm cooing calming things to him as he pounds on the door and begins to cry.
I run to the bedroom and grab a wire hanger. I straighten the end and jam it into the little hole praying for some divine inspiration as to what exactly I'm supposed to be doing with this wire. Wiggle it this way, that way, twisting, turning. I haven't a clue. Obviously that wasn't happening. I thought about grabbing a screw driver and trying to dismantle the doorknob, but figured that would take some time and my son was panicking—and making a mess. I tried to identify objects by the sound of their thuds and splashes.
I decided it was time to pull out my inner acrobat and climb through the window to save the day, after all I watch "To Catch A Thief" on the Discovery Channel. I'm practically a burglar myself from my couch-bound osmosis. I run to the back porch and grab a chair from the dining table which is awaiting a new home and has outgrown its use inside. I stumble across the rocks and through the pokey grass wishing that I had a) put on shoes, and b) just carried the chair through the house. I finally get into position. The chair is literally sitting on a bush—again with the pokeys. I get the screen down with a little more adieu than anticipated, apparently the one room worth securing is the bathroom. I pull the window open as wide as I can get it and pray that my wideness doesn't trump the windowsill.
I try to pull myself up. Yeah, so I can't do a pull up. Apparently I can't do much. I get a little over halfway several times before I realize that I need the extra inches of height that the porch offers. I move the chair over and up. It's going to be a stretch but I think I can handle it.
At this point the fear factor in Kaleb has disappeared. He's now amused by his mommy's attempted side show act and is trying to get away with doing as many things he's not supposed to be doing before I reach him, which includes trying to run his own bath. And in true Kaleb form, he had stripped down to nothing and happily announced the presence of his 'pee pee!'
I get the bulk of myself within window range and get one knee up ready to slide through to the other side, but I somehow manage to knock the chair into the bush. I'm straddling the windowsill and realizing that what goes up must come down, and from this position it could be a painful descent. I scan the neighborhood and notice that there's more people out and about than I'd care to have see me in this particular position.
I finally take the plunge and skid my inner thighs on everything potentially painful along the way. I step into my thankfully full hamper in hopes to nail a graceful gymnastics dismount. As the hamper tips and I gain momentum and embrace gravity I realize there will be no perfect scores on this one.
Kaleb claps and yells "Bravo," his favorite term of approval. At least he's a receptive audience. At that point it was either laugh or cry, and looking up from my floorbound position I find his artwork throughout the bathroom. Without making a decision I do both. I laugh as the tears stream down. I tell Kaleb to give mommy hugs, because quite frankly I needed one more than he did at that point.
I fish the bath toys out of the toilet. I try to make an educated guess as to what else in the bathroom had joined the toys for a swim and wipe up the toothpaste and deodorant masterpieces from the cupboard, floor and door. And try to wash Kaleb and myself up, too exhausted to give him a real bath at the moment. Finally I turn the lock back to the unlock position and we make our exit.
It may not have been elegantly performed and was definitely better suited for a slapstick low brow comedy than an action-adventure flick. But I saved the day and was the hero. Even if I have to walk bowlegged for a day or two.
The icing on the cake came about ten minutes later when things had calmed down, and Kaleb had been clothed and was still clinging to me for fear of abandonment when I got a knock on my door. Base security wanted to check things out because someone had tipped them off that something might be wrong. I'm sure the chair and screen in the bush were quite the clue. I explained what happened, and was told that I should call security in instances like that so that no one assumes something is wrong. I asked if either of the men were fathers, one was. I asked if he'd sit around and wait in my situation. He told me the point was taken and offered to put my screen back in for me. I thanked him and asked if that was all. Indeed it was. So now I get to wait to see if any paperwork is filed, and if so deal with mocking that will go along with being ninja-mommy when the information gets passed down my hubby's chain of command!
All I can say is, what a freaking day.
(Strawberry syrup all over my house, Vaseline from head to toe--which wouldn't even shampoo out after four attempts, an entire box of baking soda leaving a trail where Kaleb wandered, permanent markers on my walls and doors, two full bottles of seasoning on the floor of my kitchen, and all of my clothes out of the dryer so that Kaleb could have a clubhouse—all in the past two weeks. Now this. Does anyone know how early is too early to put in for retirement?!)
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