There are days when I am convinced Alex is evil. That he’s just a little devil child running around my house. On these days I often ask him, “What happened to the sweet little baby? Who are you, and what did you do with the real Alex?”
On these days he screams. He cries. He flails. He hits. He kicks. He bites. He screams some more.
He’s a toddler. Toddlers? Are Evil.
Yesterday evening I was clearly trying to win a Mother Of The Year Award. While Alex and I were getting ready to go pick up Zach from work he decided it was the perfect time to have a melt down. He started screaming “Keys!” as if his life depended on it. At the top of his tiny little lungs he screamed and screamed and screamed. So, I gave him my keys.
Whatever. He wants keys to play with? Why not. He finally learned that he is not allowed to press the buttons that lock/unlock the car, so it was no longer an issue of him making the car beep over and over again.
He had the keys. We had to go. So, I let him hold the keys while I strapped him into his car seat.
And then I remembered, shoot! Laundry!, so I ran the into our laundry room right off of the garage and changed the laundry over.
But then: click.
He locked the car.
Yes, I am a moron. Yes, I am absolutely, undeniably, trying to win Best Mother Of The Year Award by having my son lock himself in the car.
Running back to the car I naively thought, well, maybe he just unlocked the car! But no. He locked it. And then as I knocked on the window asking him to press the little button that unlocks the car? He locked it again. BEEP!
Swearing under my breath, I asked him again to press the little button. I asked him. I told him. I ordered him. I begged him. I even tried bribing him. “Choc-lit?”
Alex laughed. He laughed in my face. Again and again.
Then? He threw the keys. And laughed some more.
Fortunately, Zach saved the day. When I called him and told him that something really, really, awful had happened, he said that the remote starter was in the house. On the remote starter? Lock and unlock buttons.