Scott wrote me a poem because I won his made up word contest. It is a great poem, and an even better blog, so you should all take a looksee if you get the chance. The poem has the word ho in it. Just had to mention that (see, now I’ll get more google hits too Scott ha! ha!) Poor fools, googling hos and all they find is my blog. . .serves you right!

Yesterday Chris woke me up and hour and a half earlier than I usually get out of bed to tell me that due to a practice ceremony for the upcoming change of command in his squadron, he would not be able to take the car in for it’s smog check (requisite for California vehicle registration which we are LATE in doing) because he would need to be sleeping at the time of the appointment. The appointment was in two and a half hours, but he was going to bed so he had to wake me up to tell him.

So I got the kids up and ready and went to get the car checked on. While the nice, burly, goateed man was making sure our car was in proper working order, I chased Jonas around the parking lot as he tried to break into other people’s cars. Maggie was strapped to my chest in the Baby Bjorn, as usual. After a few scraped knees, tears, and a really big poop the car was ready. I put Maggie in her seat, then changed Jonas’ diaper on the front seat. As soon as I was done, Jonas wiggled away from me, climbed into the driver’s seat, tried to start the car, fiddled with stuff, and refused to come back to me. I reached into the car and yanked him out so I could get him into his seat, and deal with the ripe diaper on the dashboard. I got him out of the car and shut the door.

Immediately upon doing so I realized that in his fiddling, Jonas had locked the car doors and when I shut the door, I locked both my keys and my baby in the car. Maggie wasn’t sleeping, blissfully unaware of what an incompetent fool her mother is. She was, instead, screaming hysterically and staring at me through the window, wondering how I could be so cruel as to not come to her aide when she was suffering such obvious emotional trauma.

I searched frantically for the burly guy who had inspected my car, but neither him or his burly compadres can be found. I was fighting a panic attack at this point. Maggie was still screaming and Jonas was running around the parking lot trying to get hit by a car. I finally commandeer the office phone and call Chris and wake him up. After I let the answering machine pick up a few times he finally picked up the phone. I was succinct.

“YOU HAVE TO GET HERE NOW MAGGIE AND MY KEYS ARE LOCKED IN THE CAR!”

“Where are you?”

“The mechanics, it’s behind the auto parts store. Hurry.”

Click.

And then we waited. I patted the glass and watched Maggie hiccupping in despair, tears running down her cheeks. I watched Jonas out of the corner of my eye. He had the office phone off the hook and was playing with it. Then he ran out into the parking lot laughing and mocking me. I picked him up and slammed him down on the roof of the car so he would stop running around. I was still waiting for Chris. During the five minutes I had to wait for Chris to arrive, three other people pull into the parking lot and are watching me. How lovely to have an audience for my debacle. One lady finally manages to locate the burly guys who come to open the door right as my disheveled husband pulls up and throws me the key.

I open the door to the sound of wails and the stench of a nasty diaper baking in the hot sun. Not only did I lock my baby in the car, I suffocated and poisoned her with heated fecal matter.

I am sure that I am now in the running for Worst Mother of the Year Award