Mother Tucker

I took my pooch out potty the other day and the boys locked the door behind me . . . forcing me to go get the office staff to unlock it.  I had not a clue that they even knew how to work the deadbolt.  Lesson learned. Uh-huh.

Today Justin had to go up to Brook Firestation and do some pressure washing and some other stuff . . . its his job, work-study, fun fun.  I loaded the kiddos in the stroller at the same time he was getting into his car, to enjoy this happy happy warm weather we’re experiencing at the moment. We waved, Toby cried (always does when dad leaves), and we walked practically right next to him out of the drive . . . which just prolonged Tobias’ crying. Ugh.  Half way down the Salem Parkway Justin honks as he’s driving back toward the apartment.  We wave and my mind starts pondering what he might of forgotten.  And then something shiny caught my eye and I forgot about him.

We went for quite the walk and we’re coming up on our road that will lead us back to the apartment complex when it dawns on me that Justin is religious about locking the door.  I am not.  I did not bring my keys. So, of course I get agitated about it before we ever reach the apartment . . . in part because I had to use the restroom something awful.

Yes, the door was locked . . . but the sliding glass door, I found after I shimmied over  the 5 foot (ok, maybe 4 1/2 ft) enclosing wall, was not locked and we were inside in no time.

So the lesson here is, quite possibly, to carry my keys with me at all times. No matter if I’m the last one out and did not have a key in the first place to even lock the door . . . just carry the keys.