Thursday, May 23, 2013


We have a new rule in this house. 

Nobody under the age of 25 is allowed to lock a door.  

Why the tyrannical violence against the juvenile privacy of our residents?  I'll tell you why.  Because when I have about 15 minutes allotted to get myself ready for work before I have to start throwing together some semblance of a dinner for the kids to eat while I'm off schlepping drinks and pizza, I need things to be efficient.

What I do NOT need is to find my the door to my master bathroom locked.  From the inside.  As in, I could not open it. 

As it turns out, my two older boys had needed to take simultaneous poops earlier in the afternoon and so Isaiah had bolted to our bedroom to relieve himself.  Sorry I just wrote the word "poops."  For some unknown reason, he felt the need to assure his privacy and locked the door while he did his business.  Unfortunately, he failed to unlock the door when he had completed the job.

Closed the door behind him and trotted off to build a gun out of Legos without a care in the world.

Until Mommy needed to get work and suddenly I found myself bending a wire hanger and calling Evan at work, trying to hold back the tirade of curse words running through my head.  

Evan arrived home and had just as little luck as I did, so he had to bust out the drill to bore holes in the handle, sending metal shards showering onto the floor below. 

Thankfully, my shift at work was cancelled so I was able to tag along as we took our circus act to Menards to find a new door handle.

Never a dull moment around here, folks.  I posted these photos to Instagram and tweeted the whole ordeal with the hashtag #kidforsale.  There were several moments there where I was ready to make someone a really good deal and possibly even throw in a set of ginsu knives.

It's a good thing he's cute.

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