The great lockout: more drama on Planet Baby

“Waiter! Another bottle of chilled riesling for the stressed mother-of-three-under-five over here! What’s that? Mr PB bought a spare one last night? Well, open it, lickety-split!” Just when I thought there’d been enough shenanigans on Planet Baby, I’m proved wrong. Again. Yes, open that bottle of riesling – it has my name plastered all over it. 

The eagle-eyed will notice that's a different bottle to last night and it's (nearly) full

The afternoon proceeded innocently enough (hmm, it always does). Sam and I collected Joshie from school and then India from daycare. Sweet. We zoomed home (observing the speed limit, Officer) in an effort to catch the last few minutes of ‘Play School’. I picked up Sam and walked with him and India inside the house. Joshie was mucking around, feigning extreme ‘tiredness’ which apparently precluded him from walking inside himself. Irritated, I plonked Sam on the living room floor, threw my handbag on the sofa (containing my keys) and raced out the door to pick up Joshua.

Hmmm. You can see it coming, right? As I scurried out the door, leaving it open, the deadlock was activated (owing to a certain incident described here). No sweat. India knows how to open the deadlock. What I hadn’t planned on happening in the five seconds it would take to collect Joshua was that the blessed door would swing shut.

I instantly realised what had happened. The horror. This is the sight which stared me right in my unbelieving face.

Yes, we were locked out of the house and little Sam was inside on his own!

This was the sight which greeted Sam (had he known how to climb up on the adjacent chair and reach his pudgy fingers up to unlock it. Hmm, he’s too short. Oh, and maybe a little young to have worked out what to do).

Joshua and India burst into tears as reality bit. Horrified, I raced around the house, attempting to open every single door and window. All bolted shut. Fort Knox. Sharp intake of breath.

Clutching the pixies’ hands, I raced over the road to my neighbour and banged on the door in demented fashion. She arrived tout de suite, her toddler slung from her hip. Tears streaming down my face, I managed to babble more or less coherently (it’s all relative in such situations) what had happened. As my mobile phone and keys were locked inside the house, she lent me her phone to ring Mr PB. Panicked, I told him to hop in the car right away and come to our aid. Hmm, his work’s 20 minutes' drive away. And 15 month old Sam's stuck inside.

 

You see, we didn’t have a spare key handy. The solution which would have instantly fixed my problem. Hmm, getting a spare key cut has been on the ‘to do’ list for months. Hmm.

Extremely distressed and with tears streaming down my cheeks, I fled back over the road and raced around to the French doors where I was met with the sight of darling Sammy banging on the glass. Imagine Sam inside, nose pressed against the door.

Within moments, all my neighbours (at least 9 whom I can recall) had gathered there with me. My brilliant neighbour then worked his way methodically around every window with a knife, attempting to jemmy it open. Sam was becoming increasingly distressed. Having the glass between us was torturous. This is the view he had (imagine the 12 people crowded outside, pointing at him with their mouths opening and shutting).

Finally, after many false alarms given our propensity to use every window deadlock in the house, my neighbour found the only window which had eluded our attention. He hoisted it up and within seconds, I was fervently clambering up on the window sill, clearing the crystal decanters out the way, hopping onto the cabinet. Here's the precious window.

I leapt down to sweep my darling boy up in my arms and smother him with kisses. I raced over to the front door and undid the deadlock to let the relieved pixies in. Exhale! It was over.

My neighbours returned home. How will I ever adequately express my gratitude?

Shortly afterwards, my father-in-law arrived, as requested by a panicked Mr PB. He helped me calm the pixies down (oh, and deal with a certain Master-I’m-almost-five’s temper tantrum. Hmm.) My mother-in-law soon followed and asked whether I would be pouring myself any sherry. No dice. No sherry. And no wine. Hmm.

Then Mr PB arrived and raced over to give me a huge hug. He handed me two spare keys he’d just had cut. We hid one outside the house. Finally. My in-laws left. Then my mum arrived (also prompted by Mr PB) and helped me take my mind off things by doing some sweeping and vacuuming. Mr PB told me he’d bought another bottle of riesling last night – it was chilling in the fridge. Bonus.

Then we put Sam down to sleep and Mr PB took the children off on an outing. I opened the wine. Here I am, five hours after the drama began. Sam is asleep. They’re now home. The spare key is hidden outside. And I’m having my third glass of riesling.