It was a Friday, and Savannah and I were at home by ourselves. Ricardo had just left for the evening, and we weren't expecting him to be back for a couple of hours.
I usually do whatever watering and light yard work that needs to be done in the evening when it is much cooler, so I headed outside to get started. One of Savannah's favorite shows was on, and she begged to stay inside and watch it. The air conditioner was running, so I closed the sliding glass door behind me, but I was still able to see her from where I was.
I was watering my snapdragons, marveling that they were still (somewhat) alive and kicking, and thinking how fortuitous it was that The Garden Party at The Preachers Wife was held at the beginning of June. Back when my flowers were in full bloom, not droopy and parched and begging for relief from the desert heat. Such were the thoughts running through my head.
I heard it from behind me, and I whirled around, suspicious. Because there absolutely shouldn't have been a click coming from behind me. Savannah stood on the other side of the sliding door, grinning at me and looking completely innocent. You know the look...the angelic face that dares you to imagine that any wrongdoing has taken place. The look that calls for investigation. I marched over to open the door.
And...I was met with resistance.
She had locked me out.
Problem was, I wasn't positive that she knew what she had done. Which meant that she might not be able to unlock it and let me back in. I indulged in a moment of sheer panic as I envisioned all of the chaos that could ensue now that she was virtually unsupervised.
So I tried to talk to her calmly. Savannah. Look. See this lock? Ok, just push it up. Like this! See? Push it, ok?
She giggled and ran away. More panic. When is Ricardo supposed to be back, anyway? Yeah. Great. He just left. He won't be home for at least a few more hours.
She came back to the door. I abandoned my calm and instructive tone in favor of one that was tinged with undisguised alarm. I pleaded and cajoled and threatened. And she literally stood there and laughed at me. Which sort of ticked me off, because then I thought that maybe she really did know what she was doing, and was getting a big kick out of it. Exactly how much of this fun little scenario can a two year old understand, anyway? (Rhetorical question, folks. I KNOW they know way more than we know they know).
I calmed down enough to remember that we have a keypad to our garage, and that I could let myself in that way. If I could get to the front yard, that is. Our wall is about chest high on me, and I am neither lithe nor athletic. And hopping over walls...yeah, that's something I generally avoid doing.
But I had no choice. I marched bravely to the wall, planted my hands on top and gave a mighty heave. So mighty that my toes barely left the ground. Ahem. Clearly, I would need assistance.
There was a bucket nearby that looked flimsy and wobbly, but I upended it and hoped for the best. You had better believe that I took a furtive glance around before I hoisted myself up in a tremendously unsteady manner. It would just be my luck that the neighbor would happen by right then. But no, the coast was clear, and so with much exertion, I managed to make it to the top and then crash in a most ungraceful fashion into the gravel below.
I burst into the house, frazzled and ready to let Savannah have a piece of my mind. But again...that whole question of was she trying to? Was she just playing and didn't know what was going on? I really only try to discipline if I know that she has clearly recognized what is being asked of her, but deliberately chooses not to obey.