Oh, How I Love Those Firemen

At 8:35am this morning, a Cobb County Firetruck pulled up in front of our house, and 5 firemen got out to save me.

I am not going to tell you the story of their heroics . . . how they pulled us from the burning house, how they swaddled Meg in their arms with a blanket, and how we are now recovering in the hospital. I’m not going to tell you that because none of it actually happened.

Instead, I’ll tell you the story of how I locked myself out of our house at 8:05 this morning.

As our morning began and I was getting breakfast together for Meg and myself, I realized it was trash day. “I’d better get the can out to the street ASAP,” I though to myself, “because last week they came SUPER early.” I was still in my jammies, but I threw on my coat and dashed to the garage to push the Dixie Trash Service receptacle out to the end of the driveway. About a dozen cars drove by – of course – which was embarrassing for a mom in her PJs, but the chore was done and back to the warm house I went.

Little did I know how truly embarrassed I’d be in a matter of 30 minutes.

Naturally, as I turned the doorknob to reenter the house through the garage, it was LOCKED. Imagine my horror . . . I knew that I had no keys, no phone, and NO MEG. She was locked in the house. I panicked. I knew there were no windows were open, and all the doors were locked up tight. I ran around the back of the house and tried desperately to break the glass on our backdoor. But, ah, those lovely, energy efficient double-pained windows made that an impossible endeavor. I tried and tried for about 5 minutes – succeeding in nothing more than scratching up our glass – then I ran across the street to my neighbor’s house. I knew Denise would be home . . . she could help me figure out what to do.

Like a night in shining armor, Denise's husband Paul opened the door. He knew I was freaked out, so he put on a coat and some shoes and tried to help. He tried to break a window (much less expensive than the door – smart guy), but he could not do it, either. Meg just stood on the other side of the window in our living room, smiling and giggling at us. She didn’t know what was going on . . . but she had a cup of milk and Sesame Street on TV, so she was really totally cool with the whole situation.

So, back across the street we went to dial 911. Paul kept saying, “They’ll come help. I’m sure this happens all the time.”

Really? There are other women out there as stupid as I am that lock their 19 month-old children in the house while they stand outside in their pajamas?

The firetruck pulled up about 10 minutes later, and 5 of Cobb County’s finest hopped out. I’m not sure that FIVE guys were needed for this . . . but whatever it takes, I guess. They asked if there was any way Meg could help us open the doors (nope, she’s too short) or if any windows on the back of the house or on the 2nd story were open (nope, ALL locked). Then they entered the garage with a LARGE AX in hand and took a look at my interior garage door.

I didn’t see what they were doing – the sight of the ax totally shocked me – and within a second the door to the house was open.

No – I’m not THAT dumb – it definitely WAS locked. One fine (but maybe not always law-abiding) fireman slipped a driver’s license between the door and the frame and pushed the door open . . . the old 'break in with a credit card' trick. No problem at all, no need for the ax or the broken window.

Meg was standing right there at the door, blankie in hand, wondering what the heck was going on. She had not cried or even acted concerned . . . and it had been at least 30 minutes since the ordeal began. I think she just enjoyed the quiet house and her Sesame Street buddies . . . she wasn’t phased a bit.

We are all fine . . .we’ve had breakfast and we’ve read books . . . a normal morning, minus the fact that the firetruck has already come and gone at this early hour.

No laughing at me – like Paul-the-neighbor said, “I’m sure this happens all the time.” Just never again to ME, I hope.