Smooth Criminal

27 11 2008

Just when I thought any trace of bad-ass street cred I ever pretended I had was gone, swept away like a million little Goldfish cracker fragments, or so thoroughly diluted by breast milk and apple juice and instant decaf coffee that it was virtually undetectable, along comes a day like today. A day that proves that I still know how to handle myself under pressure, and that my inner criminal is alive and well and just waiting for a chance to exercise her evil genius.

It all began innocently enough. Mr. set off early to go talk to a grade six class about the world of business, as part of his stay-at-home-dad sanity-saving volunteer work. That left Squiggles and I in charge of getting Neener and Roo to school on time and fully clothed. Squiggles, surprisingly enough, was not much help, unless you consider hollering ‘hat!’ and ‘dog!’ and ‘balloooooooon!’ every twelve seconds helpful. I do not. Still, we managed the school drop-off without incident and headed home to have us some coffee and mushed bananas. With a hungry, wiggling, snow-suit clad Squiggles on my hip, I gave the back patio door a yank. But the bastard didn’t budge because the loose little lock mechanism had slipped and locked the door behind us when we left. And it just so happened that I’d locked the front door. And that my key was on my brother’s key ring. And that my brother was at work almost an hour away. And that Mr.’s cell phone was off and he’d be at a school that I did not know the name of for the next three hours. And that even if I could pop off the screens and pry open any of the old, heavy, crummy windows, there was no guarantee that my big arse would fit through. Squiggles, surprisingly enough, was not much help. Unless you consider writhing and twisting and crying helpful, which, at that moment, I did not. november2008-044So, I did what any locked-out-of-the-house-mother-with-a-cranky-baby would do in order to avoid a whole lotta crying from both of us: I whipped out a boob for the baby, and whipped out my phone to call my best friend. So she could laugh hysterically at me from the comfort and safe distance of her home in Toronto. After a good laugh and a quick brainstorm of my very limited options, I did the second thing that any locked-out-of-the-house-mother-with-a-baby-on-boob would do in order to avoid plunging into panic: I called my mother so that she could panic for me from the helpless distance  of her little house in the big woods. By the time I hung up the phone, my mother was on the hunt for the phone number of Mr.’s school and Squiggles was sound asleep. So, I tucked the baby in to the stroller and decided to put my break and enter skills to the test. Skills I have not exercised since my friend Dodie and I were 17, and found ourselves locked out of her house and in desperate need of a bathroom. I won’t tell you exactly how I managed to jimmy open our patio door, for obvious security reasons, and because no proper smooth criminal goes around blabbing her secrets all over the internet. But I will say this: I rock. If you ever need someone to break into your house, I’m your woman. Dodie and Squiggles can vouch for that.

In retrospect, Squiggles and I were very lucky. It was fairly sunny and warm out, and we were well dressed. And if we’d been faced with being locked out for three whole hours, I had a few ideas of where we could go to keep warm and kill some time. But the experience taught me some valuable lessons. Like that I should never leave home without my wallet, so I can at least go buy a coffee if I have to bum around the mall with my kid for a few hours. And that we should have an emergency key hidden outside somewhere. And, I learned something very important about that trace of bad-ass street cred I always pretended I had: apparently I’ve still got it.




7 responses

27 11 2008

That just made me laugh out loud like a nut as I sit here alone on the couch…even dingus woke up to see what the deal was!!! An 815am phone call can mean a couple of things…either something hi-larious has happened or something terrible…and the answer I got when I asked that very question…”oh, hahhah, a little bit of both!!!”

Mrs. Blister is not only a hot mamma…she is still a badass one too!!

28 11 2008

I wonder what the woman at the schoolboard thought about the nut from the big woods three hundred miles away, looking for a phone number of a school she didn’t know the name of, for a school she didn’t know the location of,looking for a teacher whose name she might have misheard on the desperate call from her daughter. How’s that for a run on sentence! You must have gotten that criminal skill from your father’s side of the family.
My side only jacked deer!

28 11 2008


But seriously, call me next time. At the very least, I could bring you to my warm house until Mr. gets back home… or I could abet you with your not-so-criminal activities.

28 11 2008

Oh I tried calling ya K, but I only had your cell number in my phone and there was no answer. Not for any particular assistance, since i had to stay close by to be able to pick up the girls for lunch, but because I was eager to tell everyone I knew what was going on! Which reminds me of another important lesson: program more numbers into my cell phone!

28 11 2008

Well, a lot of help I am…. My cell’s been dead for a week, I keep forgetting to charge it. I’ll try to be prepared next time!

2 12 2008

Here’s my motherly advice: do you have a trusted neighbour you can leave your key with? That’s what we do: I think at least three of our neighbours have our key. Smart? I don’t know but it’s come in handy!

9 12 2008

OMGD! I can see it now… especially you conquering that sliding patio door. Thanks for the good laugh. Plug my number into you cell! Love ya

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