November 19, 2003

“Oh crap! Don’t even tell me.”

I hook my right foot into the wheels of our shopping cart, lean into the passenger side window and cup my hands, squinting at the keys dangling from under the steering wheel.

I try the driver and passenger side doors, just in case. Nope, locked.

Let me check the back of the car, maybe the hatch isn’t locked.

Nope, locked.

“Okay guys – no problem. Daddy is home early tonight so we’ll call him on Mommy’s cell phone and he’ll come and unlock the door for us. Look, there’s a bunch of benches in front of Linens and Things. We’ll sit there and wait for him. We could watch for him from there.”

I flip open my cell and am greeted with the annoying Ting-a-ling-a-ling as if to say, “You forgot to recharge me again, babe.”

I quickly hit the speed dial for home and now hear a strange sort of sound I’m yet familiar with. I squint at the sickly green tinged screen and see, “User Busy – Redialing Mode”.

Oh man, he’s on the Internet!

My mind begins another race….I’ll call my in-laws. I’ll ask them to email him.

Speed dial and am instantly relieved to hear my Father-in-law’s voice.  I attempt to quickly yet coherently explain our predicament.

He’s on the job.

I sit and wait. The cell rings. It’s my Mother-in-law advising me that they can’t get through and that Dad is on his way over to our house to rouse Garth (not his real name)

I apologize and thank her and begin to think of ways to make it up to them all the while cringing at the thought of the verbal abuse my husband’s going to lay on me for this trip.

I remember that my neighbor’s home number is in my cell’s phone book and speed dial successfully with another Ting-a-ling-a-ling which I believe to be my cell’s final warning.

“Hi J. I’m at Michael's craft store. My cell battery is low. Locked keys in car. Garth (not his real name) is on Internet. Please go knock on door and tell him to hang up. Thanks!”

To my surprise and embarrassment, J. is not surprised.

I quickly redial Mom – Dad has left already.

The children wonder if they will ever make it home alive, to which I reassure them, “Don’t worry guys. I’ve got most of New Jersey looking for Daddy!”

Their reactions to our “locked out again” predicament are as varied as their personalities…

Holly – A few days into her 10th year….”Okay, Mom. Good thing I bought those chocolate coins at Michael’s or else we would have starved!”

(Note from author: We live approximately 13 minutes away from Michael’s and there is a pizza place within view.)

Heather – 7 years old going on 40 – “Not again! Why do you always lock the keys in the car when it’s freezing outside. We’re going to freeze! I can’t feel my fingers!”

(Note from author: It was 50 degrees out and the two oldest girls were snug in their winter coats complete with hoods while the baby and Glen had layered sweat shirts on while I, on the other hand, had the warmth of my overalls.)

Glen – 4 years old and all boy – “Wook at me, I’m fwying….vroooommm!”

(Note from author:He is now running in circles and bumping into one concrete wall after another.)

Hope – 2 years old and every terrible bit of it – “Hopey do! Hopey walk! Hopey get out of cawage!”

(Note from author: People are beginning to stare – I had to let the child out who is now fwying, I mean, flying in circles with her brother.)

So, this goes on for a few minutes and I kind of chuckle to myself and think of what I would say if I saw what the people who were now staring at me saw….

Exhibit A – A push cart laden with overflowing plastic bags.

Exhibit B – 4 children, some wearing coats, some not, running around and begging, “Please, just one more piece of chocolate. We promise to save some for you. It’s dinnertime, don’t you know.”

Exhibit C – The mother of said children hunkered down on a bench with arms folded across her coatless breasts and her legs bouncing up and down yelling, “Stay together, move around and you’ll feel much warmer and no more chocolates for dinner!”

The onlookers must have been looking for the tin cup….we were a sight.

So, after all of the chocolate coins are consumed and the last piece of gum chewed, I see a pair of headlights that look soothingly familiar.

It’s him. Daddy. The man. Our rescuer at hand.

I gather the children and say, “Look, see, I told you that he’d be here soon. There’s Daddy. Everyone yell hi to daddy!”

The children jump up on the bench and begin to wave their hands furiously and chant, “Dad-dee, Dad-dee, Dad-dee..” as we watch Dad-dee drive right past our sorry asses.

After I, uncertainly, reassure my children that, “No, Daddy did not leave us here to die!” We start back towards Michaels, towards our entry betraying minivan, toward a Daddy who is less than pleased with Mom-mee!

Cest’la vie!

- posted by Liz @ 11/19/2003 09:53:00 PM

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