The Meester is away on business this week (don’t go trying to break in. I have attack dogs and a super mega alarm system. With lasers), which means, I’m playing single mom until tomorrow. Seriously, dudes. Single parents? I could be here all day like, sainthood, blah blah, deserve an award, blah blah, how do you manage to survive?
First off, the Mini and his lack of napping, and being a three -year-old asshole is pushing me to my very limit. I took one look at the disaster that was my house, said “fuck it.” And went to my mom’s. That was about 25 minutes after the Meester left for the airport. It worked out well, because my parents had to put their dog down this week, and for them, it was like losing a child. What’s ironic, is that it was my sister’s dog, brought home by an ex-boyfriend, who somehow managed to not get killed by my parents, who never wanted a dog in the first place. As it goes, the dog, a big mushy, yet fiercely loyal doberman (as they are), became my parents dog, and my father’s best friend. His death was very sudden and both of them are left to process the death. So I brought the kids and my two attack dogs as a diversion for everyone. I had help, they had something to pet, everyone wins.
But, obligations forced me to have to come back home and deal with it by myself. This is hard for me, because, as my friends point out often, I am very spoiled. Majority of the time, the Meester works from home. Also? He’s the one that does all of the cooking.
I got up this morning, checked the email, while the kids played. The dogs were up my ass about going out to pee. Like, really? You hold it for a million hours, what’s ten more minutes? So I let them outside, while the kids are upstairs playing quietly, and start watering the garden, only to get up stairs and realize, that I didn’t open the bar all the way when I let the dogs out, and I’m locked out of the house.
Fuck fuck fuck fuck.
I’m on the phone with the Meester, and we’re trying to figure out how I can either find some sort of hanger or something that I can squeeze through the 1/2 inch opening I left in the sliding glass door.
Him: Can you get in through the garage? Or maybe a window?
Me: I keep this house like fort knox when you’re gone.
I take a chance and call out to the Mini. Who, hi, I don’t know if you know this, but he has language processing issues? I never quite know what he understands? Now, there’s only 1/2 an inch crack in the door, so I can basically stick my lips against it and call out to him, but I can barely hear him. I hold my breath and ask him to do something that can go one of two ways: bad, or really really bad.
Me: Baby? I’m locked out of the house. I need you to climb over the gate and come downstairs, please.
Him: Mama? I need you to open the gate.
Me: Baby, I can’t open the gate, I’m stuck outside on the deck. Can you climb over the gate?
Him: (Freaking out) MAMA, I CAN’T DO IT. I NEED HELP.
Me: (oh Jesus, what the fuck am I about to do…) Baby, can you get the stool from the bathroom to help you over the gate?
Him: Ok, Mama.
Me: Are you able to climb over?
Him: I’m coming! Here I come, down the stairs.
I see him come around the corner, looking for me. I breathe a huge sigh of relief.
Him: Mama, where are you?
Me: I’m on the deck. I need you to open the door for me. The bar fell down.
It took him a couple of minutes to get him to understand, but he managed and bailed my stupid ass out.
I will never underestimate the mind of a three year old ever again.