How Old Before We Can Teach Her Breaking & Entering?

On mornings that I take Fiona into day care Andrea usually locks the door behind me, since she's already standing at the door waving good-bye to her daughter. I knew that sooner or later this would mean that I left for the day without checking to make sure I had my keys... and, sure enough, on Wednesday that's what happened.

To appreciate the brilliant timing of my brain cramp, I managed to forget my keys on a day when I was picking Fiona up from day care because Andrea was going to be in class, on a day when Aunt Kathy (who has a spare set of keys) was in Argentina, and on a day when our landlords (who live downstairs and also have a spare set) were either working late or out of town. So I rolled the stroller up to the door, excitedly told Fiona we were going inside, and then realized I had no way of getting in.

My big mistake was in hoping that the landlords would be home soon. I took Fiona out to the park, since we know she loves the playground, and we played there for about 30 minutes. At 6:30, I headed back home, but the landlords were nowhere to be seen. At that point, I finally called Andrea and told her I was going to need her to ditch class to let us in, since there was a limit to how well I could look after a baby who had no access to toys, or a childproofed environment, and was rapidly approaching bedtime. Life was easier three years ago when I last locked myself out; in those days I could just go to a bar and watch some ballgames until Andrea was due home.

Fiona and I killed a little time at Fatty's, our favorite local restaurant, and Fiona flirted with the bartender with her usual charm, although she did have a minor tantrum when I kept her from grabbing a plant off the window sill. Nobody was the worse for wear on Thursday, but I think I'll be triple checking that I have my keys for a few weeks. Of course, I won't forget them again until Aunt Kathy, Andrea and the landlords all go on simultaneous overseas trips.