Because 911 is for emergencies. Not idiots. (February 2014)

Get a cup of coffee, take a seat. This is a long one and ranks up their with “fell on my face at the metro” and “almost blew myself up with a rocket”.

I woke up yesterday at 4:30 am to “Sorry. I pooped the bed.” On a good note, it was the 4 year old, not Mongo (the ex) but it pretty much set the tone for the rest of the day. After an entire morning of cleaning up after the curse of the tinkle poops (sheets, clothes, toilets, towels, floors) and discovering that the only food we had in the house was 8 pounds of frozen bacon, I decided to brave it (Em’s bowels had slowed to a manageable pace and her appetite was ferocious) and take the girls to grab a quick lunch and hit the grocery store. After getting the my 4 year old and 2 month old (The Kraken) out of the car, I went to hit the lock button on the key, only to find the key missing, its whereabouts unknown but likely somewhere in the car as I had just pulled it out of the ignition. (NOTE: Before Mongo left for the day, he had somehow lost the key and put the spare key on my keyring. Not sure what he attached it with–an old rubberband, a 30 year old twist tie or perhaps just some of his hair–but it obviously didn’t last. He later found the key in his car.) Given the 18 degree weather and skin splitting wind, I held off the search and took the girls into the Pho restaurant.

After lunch, I put the girls back in the car, strapped them into their carseats and began to search for the key. The car was cold so I hit the auto-start button on my keychain, a device I’ve only used a handful of times–usually from my front door to warm up the car. Once you open the door, it shuts everything down. If you put the car in drive, it shuts down. And once you hit the button, it auto-locks the doors. Which is exactly what happened when I stepped out to check the back seat and locked my children in the car. With the key inside. And my cell phone. And Hat. Gloves. Most of my common sense.

I began to frantically circle the car, trying every door. I waved at Em to open the door but she thought I was playing a game and waved back, then a panic hit her face. “I have to go potty!” Now fueled with even more terror as I realized that the tinkle poops had not surrendered, merely ran out of ammo and after a large lunch, an impending assault threatened Em and her carseat.

I ran into the Pho restaurant, borrowed their phone and called Mongo who, not fully grasping the situation, blasé suggested I just get a cab. Through a string of delicately phrased colorful metaphors, I suggested he get a freaking cab as our children WERE LOCKED IN THE CAR and he had the only other key. As it would take him an hour to get there, a nice woman gave me the “no one is stabbing me but I need help because I am an idiot” number to the police and bowing my head in shame, I called. I went back to the girls.

The Kraken was out cold and Em’s impending wave of poop had thankfully ebbed. In the next ten minutes, no less than three groups people stopped by to include the kitchen staff from the restaurant. We all tried to get Emily to open the door but she couldn’t reach the lock and was more interested in her dolls. Each group listened to my story, each group nodded and looked at me like I was an idiot.

Then the freaking cavalry arrived. Three cop cars and a firetruck. I waved them down and they walked up just as I heard a click. Emily somehow unlocked the door. Unbelievably embarrassed, I explained what happened to the officers. They were very nice and told me this happens all the time (which I am sure is cop code for you are a dumbass, please don’t procreate further). They stayed with the girls as I returned the cell phone to the restaurant. When I came back, the officer told me that Emily told him how we didn’t have any food in our house and Daddy has a gun. I hysterically laughed and explained we were on our way to the grocery store, the gun is registered and was about to thank them and say goodbye when Em concluded, “And I have diarrhea!”. That detail was important because shortly after exclaiming it to the police, the tinkle poops struck again before I could get her out of her carseat.

All ended well. I later found the key in the bottom of a grocery bag and Mongo arrived shortly after the emergency task force departed and took the girls home while I grocery shopped at Safeway. I was enroute to pick up the essentials and and given the type of day I had, I grabbed some wine. Lots and lots of wine. In fact, I had just finished putting the booze into my empty cart when I ran into the firefighters who, taking advantage of a false alarm, had stopped in for some snacks. And they recognized me. Without children. Buying booze. Because apparently, that’s how I roll.