My Car Hates Me and other irrational ways I justify being stupid

My car has decided it is time to seek revenge for the careless ways I have treated it over the last few years. It isn't happy with the number of times I've skimmed its delicate rims against defenseless curbs. The nonchalant way I transport coffee cups has become a problem. And well, as you can image, the car seat filled with crackers, toy cars and spilled apple juice in the back is not helping my case.

Over the last couple of months, the passenger side window has stopped moving up or down and my windshield, which once had one small nick, now has three new friends and has become a four inch crack threatening to split the glass in two.

But those things are livable nuisances. Then two weekends ago, the glass window portion of my hatchback started to randomly unlock and pop-open. The first time it seemed to occur randomly when I unlocked the car doors. I chalked it up to user error, slammed it shut once, and then twice and then three times and then it stayed shut.  But 24 hours later, the minute my car doors were unlocked, the hatchback window would begin a string of unlocking convulsions.

Chh-Click. Chh-Click. Chh-Click. Chh-Click.

The only way I could get it to stop was to lock the doors and then shut it. Thus began a series of tests to determine what the heck was going on. I switched out my key for the spare - it stopped for two uses and then started-up again.

Chh-Click.

I tested unlocking just the driver door.

Chh-Click.

I tested the floor release for the hatchback to see if it was on the fritz.

Chh-Click.

It was not a mystery immediately solved and unfortunately not something I could get looked at right away. So I prepared myself to have to run around my car doing Chinese fire drills all over town. (If this is derogatory, I apologize. I have no idea what else you call that thing you all know I am talking about. The internet could not come up with an alternative name either.)

On Monday, my son and I decided we were going to go on an adventure. 'Adventure' is the word we use to mean 'get out of the house before mommy or child go bonkers'. I got myself dressed, got Eli into socks and shoes, stuffed my backpack with everything we could possibly need for a two hour excursion to the grocery store and set out for the car.

Now all moms and dads know that most of the time, getting out of the house is a stressful endeavor. You have to start the process at least an hour in advance. By the time you have talked ad nauseam about how many trucks, toys, crackers, or people you will get to see along the way, asked if the child needs to go potty (no), chased the child around the house with socks and shoes in your hand, put shoes on, are told the child now DOES need to go potty, and found yourself a coat that doesn't have peanut butter stains on it, you are pretty much a frazzled mess.

So, I am in a mild form of this state of mind as we head to the car. I made my way to the curb where the car was parked, coaxing my child to bring himself and the three trucks he was juggling in his hands along with him. I threw my backpack in the front passenger seat and opened the rear passenger door with nano-seconds to spare before I had to grab my son's hand and quickly helicopter him away from walking into a large pile of dog doo sitting next to my car.

Aside: Come on dog owners! I know like 90% of you pick-up after your dog but the other 10% of you are ruining it for every dog owner I know. This was not dainty dog poop. This was a big ole mess...Next to a sidewalk that serves as a major thoroughfare for elementary kids walking to the school and college students moving from student housing to campus. And my kid getting in the car! If you own it, you have to pick-up after it.

But I digress. So, having gotten his attention and cursed the world for adding 'dog poo' to the list of obstacles involved in me getting out of the house, I swing the three-year-old into his car seat and begin the process of getting every latch in place while he tries to drive his cement mixer over my face.  Then I hear it.

Chh-Click. Chh-Click. Chh-Click.

Good Grief.  The sound could not have been more annoying. In all the chaos, I had forgotten that the latch was going to be a problem.

Chh-Click. Chh-Click. Chh-Click.

     "Vroom over mommy's face."

Chh-Click. Chh-Click. Chh-Click. 
     "We go to the toy store?"
     "Maybe, buddy. We need to run some errands."
Chh-Click. Chh-Click. Chh-Click.

     "And then we go to the toy store."
     "We'll see."
Chh-Click. Chh-Click. Chh-Click.

Click!

I grabbed my keys from my pocket, locked the doors to silence the latch and threw the keys in the backseat. With a sigh, I went back to securing the car seat, handed Eli the truck he had driven over my face and dropped on the floor and kissed his little forehead, a ritual I have done since he was an infant.

Then I closed the door, walked to the back of the car, cursed the thing for being so stupid and slammed it shut.

Then I froze in complete and utter fear.

I raced to the driver side of the car and had my fears completely realized. I had just locked my son in the car. I looked at him and he stared back at me just long enough for me to give him my most reassuring smile and then went back to his toys.

What in the world am I going to do?  Wait a minute, I thought. This dumb latch hasn't stayed shut consistently for days. If I just sit here a second it will surely pop open. Then I'll climb in through the back, grab my keys, and never, ever tell anyone about this ever.  But the latch never made a peep. I tried to pull on it and wiggle it to start its Chh-Clicking one more time. Nothing.

So I went and stared into the car and located my keys sitting in the back seat just next to the car seat. "Eli, mommy needs her keys. Can you reach down and grab mommy's keys?" He looked at me in confusion then tried to crane his little head to see where I was pointing while being tightly strapped into his seat. Then he looked back up at me and said, "Mommy get in the car."

Thus began a two minute mime act where I tried to lift up my left hand and demonstrate to Eli how to reach down and grab my keys. I envisioned him securing them in his little hand and smiling as I lavished on the praise. Then he would push all the buttons, inevitably unlocking the car as he has done a hundred times before at completely the wrong times. (While we were stuck inside during this year's Snowacalypse, he got a hold of Ben's keys for a while. We didn't think anything of it until our neighbor showed up on our porch and told us that the trunk of Ben's car had been open for the last half hour.)

However, the results were not successful.  He lifted the wrong arm for a while, then he reach down into the actual car seat and kept pulling out fish crackers, then he just started playing with his trucks again.

Okay. New plan. I walked around to the passenger side of the car, dodging the previously mentioned dog poo, and started pointing at the shiny, silver door handle right next to Eli's hand. "Eli, pull that lever for mommy."

     "No."

     "It's okay. Just this once. Pull that handle for mommy."

     "No. Don't want to."

     "It's okay, buddy. Mommy just needs you to pull the handle so she can get in the car."

     "Mommy get in the car?"

     "Yes, Mommy can't get in the car unless you help pull the lever."

     "Don't want to."

That's when his little lip started to quiver and I could see he was getting scared. And that is when I truly felt horrible.

I stopped immediately, put on my happy face and said, "It's okay. You sit tight and play with your trucks, everything is fine. We're just having an adventure."

Now this all happened in the span of 3-4 minutes. I stood outside the car, trying to figure out how I was going to do this. I can't get in the house to get the spare key because my house key is sitting in the seat next to my son. My backpack is sitting in the front seat with all my stuff.

It was only at this moment that I realized my phone was in the pocket of my sweater and not in my backpack. I grabbed my phone, told Eli through the glass that I was calling daddy and made one of the more embarrassing phone calls I have ever made to my husband.

My expectation was that he would tell me what to do. Like he had some MacGyver car-jacking trick he was going to walk me through over the phone. Thankfully, he had a more level head at the time then I did and he said, I'll be there in 15 minutes.

Trying to Amuse him with the phone.
It didn't work but I got this photo

So I stood next to my car and made funny faces at Eli for about five minutes, blocking the sun from his eyes and trying to get him to sing me some songs. Minutes six through 12 were a bit more difficult. He could tell something was up. He was no longer smiling and kept saying, "Mommy get in the car" followed by "I want to get out." It was heartbreaking. I told him daddy was going to come help us because he's a superhero and he was pacified by the thought that he was going to see dad.

Car after car drove by and only one person stopped. A nice middle-aged man who lives down the street slowed down and asked if everything was okay. I said yes, my husband is on his way. He saw Eli in the car and said, "I'd like to help. I think I can get the door open."

My immediate thought was Ben will kill me if I let someone slim jim their way into this car. But my second thought was who cares? This thing is going into the bottom of a lake as soon as I can get my son out.

It took the nice man about 40 seconds to realize that this was not the kind of car that he was going to be able to get open. He asked me if I needed to call anyone and then tried to get Eli to open the door the way I did. Eli was not amused and before he got too nervous, I ushered the helpful neighbor away from the car and said thanks for the help anyway.

Dad the hero

A minute or so later, Ben turned down the street. Without saying a word, he ran into the house, grabbed my spare key and unlocked the car. As soon as I heard that horrible Chh-Click, I pulled open the door and kissed Eli on the forehead. He said "Get out?" and I didn't blame him. I pulled him out and gave him a huge hug. Then we danced around the sidewalk talking about how silly that whole adventure was. "Dad's a hero" he said as Ben walked over and just seconds before I wrapped my arms around Ben and tried with every fiber of my being not to cry.


Sharing a story like this is not in my nature. I like to keep all my foibles nicely bottled up inside me so I can mull them over for years and let them slowly drive me crazy. But I have been lucky enough to have lots of moms in my life, both old and new, who have shared their stories with me. Some were about this exact thing - locking their child in a car. Others have been anecdotes related to the forgetfulness, fear, stress, anger, and sleeplessness that come with being a mom. And those stories help me worry a little less about all the mom stuff. They have helped me keep things in perspective as well as have been good reminders about things to look out for. So I guess I wanted to share this story so that if you think you are messing up all over the place as your child gets bigger, I want you to know that its okay. Those things happen to all of us. And you learn big lessons from them and you learn how much you love your child. And you learn that you can handle a lot more than you ever thought you could.

Do you have a mom story you'd like to share? Leave it in the comments.