The Hero of the Day

We've been taking care of Hogan lately.  The kids really love him, and after such a long winter, they're happy to get outside and run around in the afternoons.  It's just me that's really tired.

We have access to the house via a garage door opener that I keep in my car.  Now, usually, when we go in the afternoon, I get the kids out of the car, lock the car (because I leave my wallet and cell phone in the car) and then put my keys in my pocket.  But last Thursday, for some reason, I set my keys down on the table, while I went to get some food for Hogan and tried to expedite the process so as not to give the kids a chance to trash Ned and Ginny's house.

Hogan was dancing and wanting to walk, so I grabbed his leash and shepherded everyone out through the garage, hitting the button on my way out.  Once the door was down, I patted down my pockets only to discover (to my HORROR) that my keys were NOT in my pockets. 

I ran (well, as best as a 9 months pregnant girl can run) to the car, hoping I had left them in the door (I've done that before).  But no keys, and all doors locked up tight. 

The kids were running around picking up sticks and rocks, meanwhile I was totally and completely FREAKING OUT. 

I stared at the house, almost certain that I had left my keys on the kitchen table, but wondering what on EARTH I was going to do, and how I would get them back.  Chris has a spare key, but Chris was at work and my phone (with his work number in it) was locked in my CAR.  We have a spare key for the car, but it was 5 miles east back in our house, and I had no house key to get IN to my house.  And so I stood for a moment utterly lost in panic.

Then I remembered something.

In less dignified moments, when Chris has found himself taking care of Hogan and locked out of the house, he has...per necessity, crawled into the house through the doggie door.  It's a tight squeeze, but he can manage it.

I am 9 months pregnant, I'm pretty sure I CAN'T manage it.

But I know a 6 year old boy who would fit just PERFECTLY.

So I called the kids back to me and herded everyone into the back yard (fortunately there's a gate), and talked the Boy through crawling through the doggie door and where to find my keys, and to please, please, please listen to Mommy and do exactly what I say to do.  The Boy tried to insist that he would NOT fit through the doggie door, so I told him that DADDY has crawled through the doggie door and Daddy is a lot bigger than You and so I assure you, YOU WILL FIT.

My sweet boy obediently hunkered down and crawled through the doggie door, walked over to the table, found my keys and brought them back to me.  I then opened the garage door and let him out and when I had hugged and kissed on him to within an inch of his life, we all went to walk Hogan. 

I declared him the Hero of the Day and promised to make him whatever he wanted for dinner that night.  This Boy, this boy who cracks me up and breaks my heart and saves the day asked for Macaroni and Cheese.  I teased and cajoled and begged him to let me add some chicken or some broccoli or some hot sauce, but No.  He wanted it PLAIN.

The sweet thing?  He held my hand through the whole walk and periodically stopped to wrap his arms around me and assure me that everything was ok. 

At least once I day, I wonder who is the teacher and who is the student in our household.  I feel fine teaching him grammar and reading and history and some days I feel fine teaching him math, but most days he's the one teaching me about life and love and how to take care of people and what to do when you accidentally lock yourself out of someone else's house.