Where's The Baby?

The day had begun well. The sun was out and bright; the birds were singing; the schnauzers were happily playing; and we looked cute. The time had come to take Aubrey in to the doctor. A severe bout with tonsilitus had not resolved itself, and I knew from personal previous experience that it was high time to get it fixed. The walk-in clinic had a light load, the woman had told me over the phone. We should be in and out in a small window of time.

So, we headed to the car. Israel was placed in charge of the puppies, and of my sleeping son.

For whatever reason/whoknowswhatIforgot, I dashed back in the house, and ran to the Master bedroom.

The door was locked.

I stared in disbelief, and tried again.

Nope. No quick flip of the wrist to open the door.

Knowing I had an important phone call to make, and that time was of the essence in the endeavor to medicate my daughter, AND I had to repair the locked door issue, I dashed to the front room.

"Israel! Hop over the patio wall and see if the sliding glass door is open!" I hurriedly said.

"No! I'm not dressed!" came his quick retort.

The blood surely drained from my face. What? My 14 year old son was worried about being clothed in pajama bottoms minus a top?? For what reason?? I was incredulous, as I repeated my insistent directive.

He held his ground.

Obvious direct disobedience based on vanity coupled with talking back to his mom.

Hm. I'd have to deal with this issue later. Right now, I was fighting panic over the thought that I could not reach my infant . . .

Running to the car to inform my passengers (who were oblivious, and gaily enjoying one another's company) I relayed the information breathlessly. Then, I turned on my heels, to check on the sliding glass door ~ now pretty hot under the collar that my son had refused me.

I dashed to the front of the apartment.

HEAVE! {struggle}

grasp!

heave! [hook a knee}

PANT!

whew!

{jumping into the patio}

{pulling on the door}

Locked.

I stared at it for a moment.

I didn't know whether I wanted to laugh or cry.

Thankfully, my girlfriend was visiting.

Laughter became the best medicine, as she wheeled around the corner to rescue me with a jolly good idea ~ not to mention her camera:

For the record, my wayward son let in the maintenance man, who deftly opened the door, and my child was thereby freed from his captivity.

Israel, who is still alive, is a gentler, more humble son today than he was at the moment of reckoning with an angry Momma, in tune with repairing rebellious behaviors.