life is a comedy.

It is for us, anyway. And it has been very comedic recently. At times to the point of tears. Sometimes happy tears. And sometimes not so happy tears.

On Friday, I had just put Pax down for a morning nap. I told Holden that we would take some toys in my bathroom so he could play while I got ready for the day. Normally, I either get ready before the boys wake (rarely) or when they are both down for their afternoon nap (which is oftentimes after 2pm!). But I figured Holden could play for a quick 15 minutes while I slapped on some makeup, threw on some clothes that didn't look like PJs and did a little fixing of my bed-head-styled-hair. I asked Holden to grab some toys, but he just ran straight to my bathroom. I turned around and grabbed a toy in each hand, when I heard the noise. A loud slamming of my bedroom door followed by the much quieter sound of the lock. As soon as the door slammed, I took off running towards it. I was only 10 feet away. I was hopeful that I could make it. But even with my sprint, he was quicker. And so he was locked in my bedroom. I tried to pick the lock with several screwdrivers. The last and only other time he has done this, I was able to pick the lock in .7 seconds with a tiny screwdriver. That particular tiny screwdriver was in the master bathroom, which obviously I couldn't get to now. I tried to bribe him to unlock it for me. Cookies, a juice box, ANYTHING. A few minutes pass and then he was crying and asking me to hold him. I looked under the door and he was lying close by on his back, crying, hands over his face. WHAT IN THE WORLD! I think he was scared, for whatever reason, I'm not sure. And apparently, when faced with fear, he acts just like his momma. He becomes paralyzed. No adrenaline kicks in for Holden and I. We just lay down and play dead. Really, this is what I do when my crazy nightmare wakes me and tells me a crazy man is in my house. I don't run and check on my kids. I don't grab some sort of "weapon" and search the house. I just lay there, paralyzed, heart racing and normally wake my husband who is sleeping soundly. And each time he is completely annoyed with this scenario that happens way too often and has for years. Anyways, Jeremy had to come home Friday around lunchtime to pick the lock. Holden was disciplined. But he was also so traumatized by the events of the morning that he couldn't eat lunch. He just asked me, through tears, to put him to bed. This little event wasn't funny on Friday. 2 days later, kind of funny. And yes, we will be removing the lock from our bedroom door. It's happened twice now, so if the lock remains, it's bound to happen again.

Fast forward to today. Sunday lunch. Chipotle. One of our favorite and most frequent Sunday lunch spots. We are happily eating our burrito bowls while the boys eat their $1 cheese quesadillas. We are laughing as Pax dances like Bill Cosby to the music playing in the restaurant. It's a perfect little Sunday lunch for our family. Everyone is behaving (minus Pax screaming for more bites instead of signing). All was going smoothly until Pax shoved 1 too many pieces of quesadilla into his mouth and began coughing. As I reach to pat his back, he vomits all over the table, himself, the floor and my foot. It stinks. Like vomit, obviously. We wipe down the table, strip Pax's clothes off, throw away our trash and remainder of our food, because Jeremy and I don't really feel like eating at this point. I ask Jeremy to tell an employee, so they can mop up and sanitize before someone else has to see and smell sweet Pax's mess. And we leave for home. We get in the car and I crack up laughing. A good, hard, sincere laugh. Jeremy can't help but join in. I distinctly remember one of the last times we ate out, Holden somehow dumped a margarita over 5 seconds before we left the place. Every couple of weeks something like this just happens to us. So today I told Jeremy that we were leaving our mark all over the restaurants in the area. At some point, they are going to stop letting our family in. :) Well, at least we can laugh about it. Even if it's a few days later . . .