Since then, Espen has grown in both height and coordination. He now boasts abilities such as operating electric locks, starting the electric car and deftly manipulating key fobs. He can climb in and out of a vehicle into his carseat and can reach the front seats with his little feet. We are a merry duo indeed now that Espen's dexterity is on the rise.
One fair Friday in October we headed to the Columbia River Gorge for a fall hike around Latourell Falls. Espen is now a proficient hurler of stones so we spent a good deal of time casting rocks into the creek before returning to Brian the Subaru for lunch. "Let's hit historic Troutdale!" I suggested and Espen smiled in assent.We landed at an Italian joint run by Latinos and wolfed down mac and cheese. The wind was blowing outside and we were both looking forward to a cozy drive home and the ensuing nap.
I carried Espen to the car, handing him the key fob to distract him as I buckled him into his car seat. I have gotten extremely efficient at this maneuver-it takes me less than five seconds. I've timed myself. Then I grabbed the fob, threw it on the front seat, shut the back door and jogged around to the driver's side.
Up goes the handle.
It stops just shy of opening.
And by "just shy", I do mean, doesn't. Open.
As in, Is Locked.
I know Espen can trigger the fob to make honking noises I cannot reproduce with any combination of buttons. It also takes him at least a minute to achieve so I figured it was safe letting him have free reign of the fob for five seconds. There is no telling how the baby managed this; I suspect that even high speed photography would miss the prestidigitation Espen performed on the fob.
The facts are these:
-All the doors were unlocked when Espen's buns hit his car seat .
-In the five seconds between initial contact and separation, he managed to lock every door in the car. And do it under the ever watchful Eye of Mom.
I stood frozen in place on the main street of downtown Troutdale, the handle glued to my clenched fingers.
Dear God, not again.
Of course the spare key was at home so I reached into my pocket to phone Tobias.
Where was my phone. For that matter, where was my wallet?
I stared at Espen, wondering how I was going to break the news to him. "Honey, you're locked in the car again. Care to learn how to unbuckle yourself from your car seat this afternoon?"
Once, I can understand, but this just felt like negligence.
The irony was that if he'd been free ranging, the door would've been opened before you could say "GAH!" He's very good at opening car doors now. I made sure of that after the Lincoln Episode. But like any smart monkey, Espen has kept his learning curve steep enough to lull me into a false sense of security.
He smiled and waved from his car seat. He looked at the front of the car. There, on the seat next to the keys, were my thoughtfully placed phone and wallet.
I did what any self-respecting parent would at that point in time. I left my baby unattended and ran a block up the street to the restaurant we'd just left.
"Can I use your phone?" I gasped to the lady at the front desk. "My baby just locked himself in the car."
Yes, I felt guilty for a moment. My BABY locked himself in the car? What kind of lame parent puts it on the toddler? And yet, in moments of extreme intensity, I find myself yelling out the truth, even if it would be wiser to just fib a bit. Or maybe fob.
She smiled at me and said in broken English, "You have triple A? Call them."
Well no, as a matter of fact, I do NOT have triple A because my car insurance provides road-side assistance, but their number is also LOCKED IN THE CAR WITH MY BABY.
Thankfully that was kept internal.
Still, I didn't want to panic so I dialed Tobias. No answer. WHAT the F.
I called my sister on her cell phone. No answer. Seriously?
I called the hard line at Grandma and Grandpa's house. My sister picked up. Honestly.
"Please go tell Tobi that Espen has locked himself in the car and we are stranded in Troutdale. Tell him to drop everything, get the key and come."
"Oh my god." was my sister's response. Yeah. I'm aware. Thank you.
I was on my way to race outside when a Latino man intercepted me. "You lock baby in car? I bring hanger."
Bless you sweet man and damnit, damnit, damnit.
At least four minutes had elapsed by this time and I ran back to the Subaru where Espen was looking around, still calm, waving, like, "Come ON mom, hello, NAP TIME."
Brian the Subaru was parked next to a metal sculpture gallery which I was casing to see if any pieces could be used as blunt objects to break a window should Espen panic before help arrived.
A woman parallel parked in front of us and smiled. "Hi, how's it going?"
"My baby locked himself in the car."
"Oh! You can call triple A."
So helpful. And off she went. Part of me was extremely baffled. Apparently a section of my brain puts stranded baby above the crowd appeal of rescuing a cat. This, I learned, is another example of my unrealistic views. Several groups of people passed, asked what was wrong, suggested triple A and moved on.
Meanwhile, Restaurant Hanger Guy had appeared with pliers and hangers in hand. For the next fifteen minutes we shoved metal rods through the rubber flashing around the driver's side window and came annoyingly close to touching the keys. Finally, I grabbed the pliers and jammed them between the window and the door frame. Not a word was exchanged between Latin Rescuer and myself besides groans and sharp inhalations when the metal would scrape over the "unlock" button.
As a consumer note to the key fob designers at Subaru. NEVER make the the Unlock button slippery and convex. It should be a concave, sticky chasm that sucks metal hangers to it like a magnet.
Around this time, Espen started to wilt a little. To his credit, he remained optimistic, even amused, for twenty minutes, but after awhile, even the Brave reach their Limit. He began to emit little sobs punctuated with high pitched wails that pierce the most stalwart heart. I started towards the metal sculptures.
As I turned, I saw a looming beacon of Red Hope cruising down the street towards me. The firetruck slowed as it approached, no doubt because my Latin Knight and I were furiously trying to break into the Subaru. They had their headphones on so I pointed at them, then pointed at my car and made a twisting key motion. A ginger fireman laughed and said, "We'll turn around."
That calmed Espen right down. He loves machines. Restaurant Guy gathered his tools (pliers and hangers) and headed back to his business. "Thank you so much!" I yelled after him. He smiled and kept walking.The firefighters pulled right up next to Brian the Subaru and
brought out a zipped bag that looked like it contained a huge axe. "Where the blazes is Tobias?" I thought. "This could get expensive."
They extracted a plastic wedge the size of a hammer and a metal rod that looked like a thick hanger with a hook on the end. Their plan was the same as mine, just with better presented tools. Fine. Just get my baby out of the car.
The second before they hooked the lock, Tobias and my sister showed up in a cloud of dust and screeching brakes. "Stop!" they yelled, "We have The Key!"
Summer tossed the key over the firemen in slow motion, I snagged it and opened the door before they could trip the latch. Tobias lunged into the back seat and freed Espen from the car seat with the drama of a late night talk show host. Espen wanted to climb in the firetruck. He also wanted a hug. So torn. So close to nap time.
Tobias and I loaded Espen into Evie, the electric car, which is impossible to lock yourself in or out of. Summer drove Brian home.
One of my friends has assured me that her toddler pulls the same kinds of shenanigans. All I can wonder is, "What's next? Bank vault? Speeding train? Cockpit?" Stay tuned.
