How To Be A Criminal In The Suburbs

Keeping it real; my confession from the suburbs this week:

My Hubby had been away for the better part of the week. I’m not ashamed to admit this has made me a little extra tired, perhaps a tad more frazzled than usual, I definitely had a shorter fuse. My hat is off to the Mama’s who always do this parenting gig by themselves.  Looking after two girls, a house, a dog, a cat and everything in between all by myself? It’s is no easy task. The extra coffee and cookies were not to keep me going.  At least not without a little drama!

I had just finished dropping off one girl at work and the other at dance. A less then thrilling 1hour 15 minute round trip event on a slick and snowy afternoon. Gross.  I pulled into my driveway and was ready to enjoy my first few minutes of down time all week. I stuck my key in the door and shake, shake. Wiggle, wiggle. Huh? No matter WHAT I did, that house key was not going to open the front door. Blazes.  Okay, so maybe it was a small curse may that escaped my lips. You see, for weeks I have been complaining to my Hubby that the front door lock was on the super sticky side. Something was not quite right with that old lock. Could he PLEASE fix it?  Now here I was, standing outside in the blustery cold locked out of my very own house. Oh, and did I mention, I really had to pee? Damn you Grande Chi Tea Latte and your perfect deliciousness.  Grrr.  This was not good.

Not easily defeated, I did what any self sufficient Mama in my circumstances would do. Texted my man. “Great. The door damn is stuck and I’m locked out. Thanks a LOT”. You know, because this healthy kind of passive aggressive behaviour will get him to appear out of thin air from two hours away on his business trip and save me. I then took a deep breathe and started my search of the perimeter.  As one does.

I made it around the back of the house, rattling doors and shaking windows on the way. Why oh why had I chosen to wear my gorgeous fashion before function boots? Dodged dog poop in the snow, why had this not been cleaned up, to the back door. Locked. Damn! My massive great dane pup sure was excited to see me through the windows. I usually find his ridiculous tail wagging endearing, at that moment his tail wagging and greeting was just annoying. Seriously, if he wasn’t going to be helpful and open the sliding glass door he needed to stop with the damn tail wagging and barking.

Back to the car to re-group and warm-up.

Really have to pee now.

Ahh the garage door. Nope. Broken. More cursing of Hubby’s name under my breath. How has he not fixed this!  Okay, why hadn’t I fixed it?  It’s just a fuse.

Then out of the corner of my eye, a glint of light. My daughters protractor sticking out of her backpack. I know MacGyver could do something with this.

Back out to the house where there was one front window slightly ajar. The gift of painting done this weekend and the house needing to be aired out.  I took that protractor and started plucking at the window screen. Made myself a little hole big enough to get my fingers through. Did this in three different places and this Mama popped the screen out! HA! Feeling like a super criminal, I easily reached my hand in and rolled open the window. Began to hoist myself up and through that window and paused for the briefest of moments. What if my arse doesn’t fit?? Sent up a little prayer. Oh please don’t let me get stuck in this window with a very full bladder and my butt sticking out to the curb for all the neighbours to see. Oh please tell me I don’t have the house alarm on.  That is not something I want to have to explain to the good people of 911.

I wriggled, I huffed, got scratched up a little and realized how out of shape I was.  I  hoped against hope the neighbours weren’t looking and prayed that my underwear wasn’t sticking out of my low rise jeans and cute and clearly stupidly short coat.  I cursed a few times more and then……..I was in! Victory. I broke into my own house.

Small victory. Time to pee and then had to go and pick up my daughters.

The moral of my story, if your locks start to stick, don’t ignore them. Oh, and never underestimate the power of a women armed with a full bladder and a protractor.