Not your average suburban mom. I’m more your typical, normal, commonplace, everyday, garden-variety suburban mom. With a thesaurus.

Thursday, September 20, 2012

Under Siege ... and Dethroned

It's the stuff of nightmares ... my panic room was breached.

I thought I took all the proper precautions.  It's out of the way.  It has locks. A lot of people don't even know it exists.

And yet.

It happened last week.  The day was a normal one.  The kiddos were driving me bonkers because they are awesome at what they do. Sometimes, after spending ten straight hours with the darlings,  a mama just needs to escape for a minute or twenty.

I made my break for it right after dinner.

While everyone else was finishing up and the girlies were on clean up duty, I "used the restroom." The restroom in point is hidden far within the depths of the master bedroom, with two locked doors standing between the solitude of the throne and the chaos of the hallway.  This is good because Ezra likes to sit outside the bedroom door and say, "Mama,Mama,Mama,Mama,Mama,Mama" until my head explodes or I yell, "WHAT, BUDDY?" from the confines of my bedroom.  It's kind of like Chinese water torture, but without water.  Or the Chinese.

But in the restroom panic room, I cannot hear the little guy.  It's like silent-ish bliss.

Then it happened.

I was taking care of business, deep within the safety of my sanctuary, when from outside my house, on the other side of the window in my panic room came a little voice:  "Mama, Mama, Mama .... Mama."  It was totally Chucky-like and super creeper-esque.  Two year old Ezra had breached the compound.

HOW HAD HE SLIPPED PAST THE SAFETY PROTOCOLS?  The window is a good five feet off the ground.  How was he standing on the other side? Three words:  Mud. Pie. Table.

The best father in the world built a mud pie table for the girlies.  It's like outdoor counter space to be used to concoct the best in culinary compost creations.  I made Brian put up part of a privacy fence so our mud pie station didn't ghetto up the neighborhood anymore than the garden gnome house down the street already does.

Two year old Ezra figured out how to climb up on the table and somehow realized through the frosted glass window that I was on the other side.  (I'm pretty sure that's some kind of super power.) Then, with the patience of a stalker, murmured steadily from outside a siren song, "Mama .... Mama .... Mama ... Mama."

Dude.  It's like I'm not safe anywhere.

In Awesome Contest News:  Congrats to SHAUNA, the winner of her very own Fuzzy Viking Hat for turning in an answer with her information source as proof that homeboy's tattoo says "Steffes".  We don't have to understand, people, just be able to read it.  Mystery solved.


  1. WOW, what a determined little boy you have! My kids seem to have this sixth sense when I'm either 1) on the toilet, or 2) on the phone, and they always choose that time to talk to me. Thankfully, my master bathroom has no windows! ;)

    1. Oh my word - Miss Slim Katie! I have been reading your blog for for-evah, so welcome to my little piece of paradise ;-)
      Yes, Ezra is crazy determined. I'm thinking it's more a boy thing with all the physical stunts. And I totally agree with you about the sixth sense. I think all kids are born with it. Remember having a newborn that would need you mostly when you were trying to eat/sleep/shower? It's good to know they don't lose that innate sensibility.

  2. Wow, that is one smart kid!!! Poor you. ;)

    Glad to know I got the tattoo right, even if I was waaaaay late.

    1. Just think - if you did Warrior Dash you could STILL have your very own Fuzzy Viking Helmet without even needing to decode a random tattoo. (Just one more argument in favor of the Dash! ;-)


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