You know that feeling you have when, after leaving your sewing room to put a few things on your desk, you return to find the door closed and locked? (Nope, no key to that door!)
And then that feeling you have when, after hearing the little voice greet you from inside, and asking them to please unlock the door, and asking again many times, and instructing the little voice on how to unlock the door, you hear the little voice begin to panic?
And that’s when you know that this is not going to be one of those easy, laid-back evenings.
The last time I had this feeling, Nathan had locked himself in our bathroom. The bathroom has two doors, but he couldn’t figure out how to unlock either of them. However, in that case it turned out that the doorknobs had been installed with screws available to the outside of the room. Note: this is a serious security flaw, and a major parental bonus. Taking off a doorknob was slightly tedious but not difficult, and then we had a little lesson on how the locks worked. Then we taped over the locks with packing tape. End of problem.
The sewing room doorknob, though, had no such convenient security flaw. Nor had Ryan been around to have the lock lesson, back in our previous experience. On the plus side, Dave was home.
Dave assessed the situation and pointed out that a new doorknob would be cheaper than an emergency locksmith call, and the process of breaking out the doorknob might be just as fast as getting the locksmith there anyway. He started with a hacksaw, but eventually brought out a hammer, a screwdriver, and two pairs of pliers. Much loud noise ensued.
Ryan started out slightly panicked, was calmed a bit by the sight of my fingers under the door and a cookie slid through the conveniently large gap, escalated to crying (is there anything more pitiful than a small child’s voice crying “Want out!” from the other side of a door?), and then gradually calmed down as he remembered that he was in the forbidden sewing room, quite possibly the single room in the house most packed full of interesting things. His unhappy noises became less and less frequent, and the sounds of minor crashes and things spilling ramped up accordingly. At one point Dave looked at me and said, deadpan, “He’s just distracting himself from the trauma of the situation.” This was after a particularly impressive and mysterious series of crashes, punctuated by delighted laughter.
And of course in the end Dave triumphed over the doorknob. He got his hero pedestal shined up a bit, Ryan got a nice warm bath (“nice warm bath” is a favorite phrase of his lately), and Nathan and I got to pick up the colored pencils, play beans, pens, boxes, and other assorted paraphernalia on the floor of the sewing room.