We’re settling into life in our cute little rental house and back into the routine of school/ballet/rock climbing, and I couldn’t be happier. I thrive on routine, much like a toddler.
Even though things are somewhat “normal,” life is by no means dull.
Sunday night brought this exchange.
Campbell: Mom, can we play in the tree fort?
B: Why not? Why can’t they go out in the yard?
Me: Because it’s too frikken hot out.
Campbell: Mom, I just felt outside, and it’s not frikken hot. It’s warm.
B: You are SO busted.
Monday afternoon, Elizabeth managed to lock one of the bedroom doors and pull it shut as she left the room. Ella and I spent ages monkeying with the knob, trying to pop the lock. We even experimented with the other door knobs and were able to successfully unlock them. B got home and gave it try, muttering under his breath the whole time.
He wasn’t successful either.
So I called in the local locksmith, who showed up two hours later. And really, there are not many more discouraging things for a locksmith to say than, “Wow. I’ve never seen one like this before.”
After 15 minutes of messing with the knob, practicing on the other knobs, and lots of muttering, the locksmith finally popped the lock open. The mechanism inside the knob was warped, which is why it was so hard to open.
We have now removed all the little screws that lock the doors shut and stored them someplace out of Elizabeth’s reach. And the $80 locksmith fee is so coming out of her allowance.