Awkward Mom vs. Locked Out

It was not my intention to be breaking into my house today. As fun, and frighteningly easy, as this is, it really wasn't on my to-do list this morning. 

Here's what happens: Super Preschooler has his Halloween party at Preschoool. He is dressed as old Obi Wan Kenobi. He is very clear on this point; he is old Obi Wan. Either he holds with the proper and awkward-family-sanctioned theory that the original Star Wars movies are simply better films, he much appreciates the acting prowess of Alec Guinness, or he prefers his screen time to be short and powerful, with a few ghostly voice-overs. Maybe he didn't want us to tie a little braid into his hair. Who knows, but know this. He is old Obi Wan if you want to compliment his costume. Anywho, he troops off to class today totally pristine; cape-clad and toting a dozen tootsie-pop ghosts. I pick him up with slightly less ghosts and covered in orange cupcake frosting. He is also massively high on sugar. 

Please ignore the Celtic cross brooch.

I know it isn't canon, 

but Obi Wan's mom couldn't find any safety pins this morning. 

So, I pick up Super Preschooler, high as a kite, and we run to the bank to kill the 30 minutes before Super Kindergartener gets out for the day. Of course, I fail to examine Super P's backpack before I tuck it back there with him, so I, naturally, also fail to notice the bugling trick-or-treat bag residing within Lightening McQueen's innocent zippered mouth. Super P. does not make this mistake and has consumed his weight in chocolate and pixie sticks by the time we arrive at Super K.'s school. I end up parking next to Spectacular Mom, so I spend a little time having some much needed adult talk. (No, it isn't dirty. It just isn't about Pinky Dinky Doo, which, interestingly, does sound dirty and also is not.) I rush up to the door and get Super K, bringing him back to the van so I can continue my adult talk. He and Super P. begin racing around the van, eating more of Super P.'s candy, drinking my diet Pepsi, pretending to drive, and generally being loons. They lock me out of the van, but, as I have the keys in my pocket and The Wandering Glutton (seriously, don't read his blog too hungry or you might drool on the keyboard) has wandered over on his way to pick up his daughter, I don't really care what the Supers are up to. I am talking to real live adults! During the day! Super K. and Super P. decide to pretend that the van is their spaceship and they spend the time "fixing" it with a screwdriver that Super P. has magically pulled from somewhere. I am thinking that voluminous robe of his. Their ship can't be too broken however, as the automatic sliding door seems to be functioning just fine. Over and over and over again. 

I don't tire of talking to Spectacular Mom and the Wandering Glutton, but Super Toddler can't undo her own car-seat, like her brothers can, and is losing her mind at being imprisoned while they run around and pretend to drive. If anyone alive wants to drive, it is Super Toddler. 

That is not her smile.

That is a grimace that says I would maim you if you were any closer. 

So, I dutifully say goodbye to adult conversation for the day and head home. Getting the Super Boys back in their car-seats takes a long time, especially Super Preschooler, who is so high on sugar and stolen diet Pepsi at this point that I think he is seeing things that haven't been seen since Timothy Leary was turning stuff on. Proof to my point is that Super P. tries to get to his backseat car-seat via the ceiling. It is so time to go home. 

I pull in the drive-way and the Super Boys are out of their seats and banging on the door before I am totally in park. So, it is going to that kind of afternoon. I open the well-used sliding door and they pop out. I go over to Super Toddler's side and unbuckle her. She launches herself out of her car-seat and drive-bombs the driver's seat, face first. OK, clearly, she needs some running around the van time. I leave her, unlock the house, herd the Super Boys inside, and throw my purse, 2 backpacks, 3 Halloween art projects, and 4 coats (it is now an unseasonable 60ish degrees, plus I don't think Super P. can control his own temperature anymore). I leave the Super Boys hurling dress-up clothes around as Super K. loses his uniform in one swift move that, disturbingly, looks like something out of Magic Mike, and I head back to Mario Andretti there in the van. I arrive to find her pretending to whirl the steering wheel around while waving at me from the, decidedly locked, front seat. OK. I'll just go around through the sliding door, except a sharp tug alerts me to the fact that the sliding door is also locked. All the doors are locked. Well, luckily I have the keys right here in my....purse. In the house. 

So, I head back to the house to get my purse to find that Obi Wan and a random storm trooper with a princess crown have locked the screen door. I ask them to unlock the door. They, deep in their play-world and high on Halloween candy, refuse. And that is how I end up banging and kicking on my front door while yelling, for the entire neighborhood to hear, "No, I will not go to Watto's shop to buy parts for your ship! Open this door before I cancel Halloween!!" 

Luckily for everyone involved, Awkward Dad listens to the weather report and had opened the sliding door in the dining room enough for Awkward Mom to wiggle herself and Super Fetus through. Halloween remains uncancelled, but we are thinking of hosting a pixie stick intervention for Super Preschooler on November 1. 

Turn on, tune in, and drop out indeed.....