One of the most sad hours of my life happened around this time. It was a Sunday, late-morning, and we were starting to get ready for church. I lay Max on my bed for a second while I went into the next room to do something. A moment later, Luke and Audrey were at my side, letting me know that they had locked Max in my room. It was a room with a real lock (not one you can just stick a toothpick in), and we had no key. Clayton was furious, and I was a little bit panicked. Obviously, the kids hadn't wanted to do something bad. They were just curious and playful. But, Max was in there all alone and screaming. We tried everything: credit cards, lock-pick set, prying the window open from the outside, contraptions made from hockey sticks, belts, and tape to try and fling up the belt and catch the handle. Nothing was working, Max was still screaming, Audrey kept telling Luke that he had killed Max, and the locksmith with the 15-minute guarantee was 15 minutes late. Clayton called again, and they said it would be another hour (!) before they would get there. He knocked the door down. I was glad. Luckily, the door didn't break - just the trim around it. Also, Max was okay. We knew he hadn't suffocated due to the hour-and-a-half-long screaming fit which nearly broke my heart, but he settled down just fine. We rushed to get dressed, rushed to church, and our sweet, little, worn-out babe slept for the duration of church. However, the story continues. The following day, I was in Luke and Audrey's room helping them change after swimming in the back yard. Luke, for some unknown reason, locked us in. Aarrgh! Again, we were separated from Max. Luckily I was in this time, so I climbed out the window in my bathing suit, ran around the house, and found an open door. We have had a lot of talks around here lately about never locking doors!
