First, I want to give like, 90 seconds of background information to the bathroom sitch. 90 seconds before I found the bathroom was locked for ever, I was lying in bed, starting to wake up to the sounds of my children playing. When suddenly, my 2nd eldest ran into my room, SCREAMING BLOODING FRACKING MURDER.
"MOMMY!! MOMMY!! (Eldest Child) JUST STEPPED ON GLASS!"
Okay, I'm awake, half out of bed, and very attentive.
"SHE HAS A TINY RED DOT, AND I THINK IT'S GOING TO BLEED ANY MINUTE!!!"
Aaaaaaaand there you go. I got scream-woke because my 6 year old can't tell the difference between the worlds tiniest poke in the foot, and beheading by guillotine. So I tried to explain.
"This. Is not. Something we scream about." She heard me, and ran out of the room. As I got up, stretched and made my way over, I hear:
"(Eldest Child)! MOMMY SAYS SHE DOESN'T CARE ABOUT YOU!"
Which... what? Good grief, tiny humans. Can some things ever register as like, a 3 on your panic scale? I'm not saying it's a zero, but maaaaaybe a microscopic dot of pre-blood doesn't warrant a trip to the ER? Anyway, it's been a year and a half and this child is still at an 11.
So can I say? I was grumpy. I was grumpy for being screamed at, and grumpy for the general sense of panic over nothing, and then for overhearing screamed gossip about my lack of maternal warmth and concern. (And by the way, I checked the foot. The foot was fine.)
But I was grumpy. I left the foot and noticed the bathroom light was on, and when I went to very ineffectually open the door, I was told, nonchalantly, "Oh yeah. The boys did that. Now we can't open it."
I fiddled with it. I stood for a good long time, just staring at it. I. Was. Grumpy.
Then my husband comes up and says, "you should make a video. People will think this is hilarious." And I thought he was high. Because this is not funny. This really sucks, and my Monday is off to a kind of epically bad start. But then I drank the coffee and saw his point, and got my mood all adjusted.
1) I have an impenetrable safe room in my house.
Like, I am definitely not worried about home invasion any more. If our house is ever broken into, we shall huddle in the middle of the bathroom tub, and open one freaking drawer. And unless our invader is Jack Nicholson with his axe, we are safe forever and ever and ever.
2) Some of you people are just terrifying.
I am not joking, guys. Because for every comment that was like, "oh that's so funny!" or "Maybe you should go in through the window!"* There were just of many of you who jumped right to "GET A CHAINSAW" or "YOU SHOULD DESTROY EVERYTHING AND JUST START YOUR WHOLE LIFE OVER" or "I WANT TO LIGHT A MATCH AND WATCH THE WORLD BURN". And... Gulp. Some of you may need to get your hands on some of those nice little mood stabilizing pills. Because wow.
3) All women want to sacrifice their husbands. And they mostly want it to make sure it hurts.
Multiple humans actually volunteered to send your husband's over to fix our problem. Multiple. It was incredibly sweet.** Many of you are amazingly kindhearted people. Still more of you indicated that your husbands would have a handle on how it should be fixed. Those women seemed really proud of their highly capable spouses. Which is really nice, I think.
But some of you, I dunno, some of you just seemed to want to watch your husband's get hurt. I heard from a lot of ladies who desperately wanted their husbands to bash their fleshy bodies up against locked doors in order to, I'm assuming, either murder said husbands, or prove the husbands' unassailable manlinesses. Either way, it's a touch creepy, my friends. I mean, we have like, tools available to us. No one needs to bleed, guys. Just relax a little.
Oh, and if somehow you're still curious how this whole mess ended, well, to sum up:
*No windows. No windows. I can't express this strongly enough. The room. Has. No. Windows.