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.