What's that, Tyf? You did what? No, no, this must be a bad connection. It almost sounds like you said you LOCKED YOUR BEAUTIFUL BABY IN THE CAR. I know that can't be right. Unless, of course, you're going for ... Mother of the Year!
It's been whispered, it's been gossiped about, and at long last the big awards day has arrived. The competition was fierce but Tyf, only in her third month of motherhood, has edged out in front of all other contenders. The "Mother of the Year" award goes to Tyfany!!!
Before y'all start looking up the number for CPS, let me explain...
It all begins with the stinkin' Social Security Administration. That's right, you know who you are. Apparently, one must have a social security card to not be kicked out of this great nation. Or at least not heavily fined by the pesky IRS. And so, it only took one threatening letter to get me to finally get around to legally changing my name. You know, from three and a half years ago when Billy and I got married. Whatev. As Erin Crockett at UT will attest to, I tried on three separate occasions to change my name when we still lived in Austin. It's not my fault that I didn't have eight months of my life to sacrifice to standing in line.
Moving on, Tuesday morning I drove myself and sweet Kiernan downtown to get a new social security card. I found a parking spot and started to pile all Kiernan's accessories out of the car. Seriously, the days of traveling lightly are *so* over. That kid never goes anywhere without at least three days worth of supplies. I feel like we're trapped in a constant game of Oregon Trail. So there I am on the sidewalk, with his stroller frame thingie in hand (greatest invention ever; thanks, Todd and Nessa!) when I go to open the door to lift out my sweet baby. Ahem. I said, open the door. And now you're in my world.
Helplessly, I watch my angelic little boy, who has no idea he's been saddled with a contender for Mother of the Year for the rest of his life, through the locked door. Poor, poor Kiernan. I try all four doors without luck. Apparently, in my three and a half years of avoiding the social security office one thing I did *not* do was read the owner's manual of one Honda CR-V. Who's the genius who thought up that when you manually lock the driver's side door all the other doors lock automatically?
Lots of tears, a police officer on a bicycle, a less-than-sympathetic 911 operator (seriously, I *do* consider locking my 3 month old in a car an emergency), and a whole truckload of firefighters later, one Kiernan William Dempsey was safely free. My favorite part (other than the obvious getting-my-baby-out-of-Honda-prison):
I asked the head firefighter if he would recommend that I make a copy of the key and put it in one of those magnetic lockbox thingies on my car for future instances when I lock my young son in the Honda. His response? "Well ma'am, no, we recommend you don't lock your keys in the car in the first place."
Classic.
2 comments:
A little trick we use: when Bailey is in the car there is always a door or window open. Even if we have to walk around, open the driver's side door and then go back and shut her door, we do it. The scenario you described is why. The thought of locking her in alone is terrifying! Either a door or window open ensures no babies are locked in cars!
Wow...you're the best Mom ever! But seriously, you're not the first person to do this. And you definitely won't be the last. It doesn't make you any less than a mother. In fact, I did it babysitting one time. I sat my keys in the passenger seat as I piled out of the car with baby bags in hand. Luckily, I had cracked my windows and could get a coathanger in the crack. And the baby is still alive and well, no permanent damage. :-) You're an awesome Mom.
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