The keys to life

Case,

OK, time for the latest installment of Obvious Lessons From An Oblivious Dad.

Last time, we talked about making sure you keep gas in the car. You don't want to be the guy trudging toward the nearest gas station, red can in tow, on the side of the road. People smart enough not to run out of gas laugh at that guy. Don't be that guy.

Today's lesson is just as important: Don't lock yourself out of the house. Again, it sounds simple enough. But nothing's simple when you're always in a hurry (How do you think I kept running out of gas? I had places to be!). Well, last week, it was such a nice day that I talked your mom into taking you and Edgar for a walk. Simple enough, right? Not quite. I was thinking of multiple somethings (the specifics escape me now) not related to the walk when I hustled everyone out of the house and into the sunshine. Your mom was already halfway down the driveway with the stroller, E following dutifullly behind, when I ran to catch up (Oh, now I remember. I wanted to run my head under the shower for a moment so as not to cruise the neighborhood looking like Sideshow Bob (Google him). Don't judge me! I like to look good. OK, that's a lie, but hair makes the man. Isn't that the saying?)

Annnnyway, as I closed the door, my stomach dropped. My hand was still on the doorknob and I just knew. I knew.

Me: "Oh, no!"

Your mom: "What?"

Me: "I just locked us out of the house. (Expletive). (Expletive). (Expletive)."

(I run down to meet you guys)

Me: "(Expletive). I'm such an idiot."

Your mom: "Stop it. Listening to you is worse than being locked out of the house."

Me: (Expletive)."

Again, the specifics escape me, but there was general conversation about what we should do, talk of a locksmith, mentions of ladders and windows and some worry that you'd be stuck out in the sun for too long.

I called the landlord, who suggested he might have keys at his house and he'd call his girlfriend to see. He called back, said he had a set of keys and could I drive over and get them.

Me: "Oh, yeah, I forgot to mention last time that the keys I locked in the house include the car keys."

Him (I could sense his eyes rolling through the phone): "Oh, so you can't drive?"

Me: "Yeah. Don't worry. I'll call a locksmith if I have to."

I returned to the curb where you, your mom and E were staying, in the front seat of my car in the relative shade. I offered up a few more expletives, got a nasty look I completely deserved and decided I did not want to call the locksmith if I could help it. You think being the guy holding the red gas can makes you look ridiculous, try having this conversation:

"Yeah, I, uh, locked my keys in the apartment, and I'm wondering how long it would take for someone to come out and open the door. I've been sitting outside for half an hour trying to figure out what to do while my wife, pug and month-old baby try to stay out of the sun."

"You're the kind of guy who runs out of gas all the time, right?"

"Uh, yeah, but, uh ... Can you just tell me how long it would take to come out here and get this taken care of?"

"What? How much? (Expletive)."

Luckily, I was spared such an exchange.

Eventually, I found our nice neighbor John (great guy except for that damn bluetooth). He followed me into the backyard with a ladder, I fiddled around for a few minutes trying to figure out how to open it fully and placed it on some very shaky ground up against the house.

The plan was to crawl in through the kitchen window, which I was praying was open. The initial mention of the plan drew this response from your mom: "Is the window even open? How are you going to climb over the oven?" (I think that was a crack about my weight, but I didn't have time to dwell on it)

I climbed the ladder, needing to step on the top rung (very safe) to reach the window. I ripped the screen out and threw it in the yard (felt awesome). The window was open, and so was the inner window. Then I hoisted myself up a couple feet and wiggled my torso a few feet in. Thankfully there was no one around to record the bottom half of my 230-pound frame wiggling frantically as I used my upper body to push myself in the apartment and, surprise!, over the damn oven (and dishwasher) while both windows and the blinds fell down on top of me. Actually, the process of wiggling through that window very much resembled your attempts to scale my chest during your first weeks. I was not quite as cute, however.

Finally back in the apartment, I opened the door and let the family in. I had about 10 minutes before I had to leave for work. I used the time to thank John, make sure you were OK, check to see that my hair looked good after the ordeal and mention at least five times that we HAD to get copies of our keys made the next morning. Five days later, we finally did. And that brings me to the next lesson: Don't procrastinate! I'll have more on that later when I find the time.

Love,
Dad