Happy Birthday to me

Yesterday, it was my birthday, and I almost baked two of my children. Bad Mom.

Here's how it all went down. I was loading the boys in the van to head to my sister's to have fun visiting on my Special Day. I put the baby in his carseat, loaded up all the crap I have to bring with everytime I go somewhere, and realized I had to put the other seats in their spots. The girls have boosters, so I just placed them where they're supposed to go, but I had to buckle Mister S's in. Being a Good Mom, or so I thought, I was making sure that sucker was in there right and tight. While I was doing my duty, Mister S headed up front to play with buttons. I heard the locks go up and down, and I told him to quit. I did! He didn't pay much attention to me, but I finally coaxed him to the backseat after telling him to put the locks up. Okay, perhaps I'm a bit optimisic (or stupid) thinking a 3 year old might listen to that command.

I buckled the boy in, and I shut the door on his side after I checked that it was up. It was. I walked over to the other side, and I slid the door shut, and then my utter stupidity, my idiocy, hit me full-force as the locks clicked shut. There is a feature on our van, of which I am aware, but at this moment I wasn't considering, where the doors all lock after all the doors are shut. Most of the time it's not an inconvenience.

My heart sunk. I swore. I threw my purse. The doors didn't unlock. So, I figured I needed to be proactive. I went to Mister S's window, peering in at his tear-filled eyes. He was so sad. :( He said, "It clicked." Yes. Yes, it did. It most certainly clicked. "It clicked all by itself, Mama!" Weeeellllll, if you say so, hon.

I tried to tell him he needed to unbuckle so he could unlock the doors. He hasn't been able to do this before, but at this point I was still optimisic. With a little coaching and cheering on surely we wouldn't fail, right? I told him to use both his thumbs to push the red button really hard.

"These thumbs?" he asked, holding said thumbs Fonzie-style.

"Yep, those are the ones! Be sure to press REALLY hard." I replied.

While he tried pushing the red button, I called the Husband. Or tried to. My first message, I guess, was rather mundane and a bit perky, so it didn't cause major concern. My next call, after five minutes of trying to get Mister S to push the red button harder was a bit more detailed. I told Mister S I was going to run in the house and get some keys to try to unlock the door, and I waved at Mister G and he smiled at me. I tried the keys, and I tried them again. And you know what? I tried them three more times at least, and they still didn't work. Mister S told me where the keys were when I failed to open the door with the keys that wouldn't work.

"They are right there, Mommy" he said as he pointed up front.

"Oh, you're right! What a smart boy you are!" I said in a decidedly optimistic and sarcastic voice. Thankfully, the sarcasm flew right by him.

I tried Husband again and left a more frantic message. I thought perhaps he knew were the spare was or had it on him and was nearby. It turned out he did know where it was, but it was with him and he wasn't nearby. I called work to see if they could get ahold of him, and I called my in-laws to see if FIL could come to the rescue. He wasn't answering his phone either!

MIL said she'd call the local repair relative, and I continued to encourage Mister S to unlock his seatbelt. I think my persistence about it was annoying to him because he kept burying his head in his blanky.

It was hot, though. When that click first occured, I was pissed. I figured, though, we could get it open, and I felt pretty positive. As time passed by, I had visions of my babies dying, and it wasn't good. Their little cheeks were flushed, and Mister G had sweat running down his forehead.

Rescue arrived and within five minutes he had the door open. At this point, Mister G was crying and Mister S was obviously upset. When that door opened, Mister S burst into tears, and I don't think he'll play with the locks anymore. He still draws on the table no matter how many times I've told him not to and threatened/disciplined/punished him, though, so I'll be sure to check the doors.

All ended up well, but it certainly isn't an experience I care to endure again!