Lucy locked herself in her room yesterday. I didn't even know that door locked. Our house was built in the 1910s? 20s? It's old. Most of the doors have old skeleton key doorknobs that only lock from the inside AND outside with keys. Well, Lucy's door had a turn-the-thingie-on-the-knob type lock. And it locked the knob on the inside as well as the outside so Lucy couldn't turn the handle either.
Now. This wouldn't be a big deal if there was some sort of unlocking mechanism on the outside. Or if the hinges were on the outside. Or if the knob had screws to take it off. Or if the wood trim on the door wasn't glued on with a century of paint. Too bad none of this was working to my advantage.
Tending toward despair
This I learned: kicking down a door is way harder than it looks in movies. I tried twice and gave up. Not to mention that I didn't want Lucy to be maimed by the flying-open broken door. And I had to call my Bubba to ask if it was ok if I broke a door off.
Also learned: I don't have what it takes to be a burglar and break into windows. I only got as far as getting the screens off.
Not amused. Stop trying, Mama.
I used a big screwdriver and hammer and tried to trip the latch. I tried to pry the knob off. I tried to use a hammer as a lever and pry the dang door off.
And then I called the Bubba to come home. It had been 20 minutes, and Lucy was clearly done with this business. And even if she wasn't. *I* was.
Pacified and waiting for Daddy
And then Daddy came, banged real hard, tripped the latch with the screwdriver-hammer trick while I kept Lu away from the door in case it broke open.
She was totally fine. She had pooped her pants, was happy to see Daddy, wanted some lunch. Fine.
Mama, however, needed a stiff drink and a massage.