Fun with the Boys

It’s so very official: There’s never a dull moment in motherhood.

Every Monday I run my errands, so the other day I was making my usual stop at beloved Saint Trader Joe’s. Nothing exciting or crazy, other than Emerson being a total angel for once as I filled my red cart to its max. Well, it’s also pretty insane that I spent over $200—my official new record at TJ’s and also some hardcore evidence of my 34 weeks’ gestation. Pregnant ladies buy some weird things, you guys.

All done shopping, I loaded up my SUV’s trunk and snapped Emerson into her car seat. I couldn’t WAIT to get home for some Cookie & Cocoa Swirl butter on a frozen banana and maybe a slice of Swiss cheese. (Again, so many weird things.) Around to the driver’s door I went. I pulled really hard on the lever. That’s when I realized that…

SNAP.

It was so. very. locked.

So was the trunk. And all other three doors.

No need to panic; it’s fine. The keys had to be in my purse.

Alas, of course, they were not, and, of course, all four windows were closed.

And there were the keys in the cup holder. Locked tight in the car with my kid.

I don’t know what most women do first in these types of scenarios, but I usually call my husband, even when it’s clear there’s not a thing he can do from his cubicle. “Babe! Babe! Tell me you have a spare key to my car. Do you? Do you? Help! Help! I locked Emerson in the car with a million groceries!!!!! The doors are all locked. The windows are closed. How long can she breathe?! I can’t believe I did this! When am I going to stop doing the stupidest things! Oh gosh, what should I do?!”

I have yet to see or hear Doug frazzled in 11 years running and this would be no exception. “I don’t have a key. But it’s OK. Hold on a sec.” Pause. “Gary says to call 911.” Gary, the senior broker on his team, was quite the expert on life. But 911 seemed soooo dramatic.

“What about Triple A, though? Or OnStar! The company that can unlock it remotely? I hate calling 911!”

“Call 911 first, babe. Then try the others. It’s a hot day and Emerson’s locked in your car. Go!”

Thankfully, peering into the tinted window, I could see Emerson laughing, smiling and kicking her tiny feet. She apparently found it hilarious that I was locked out. I’m glad one of us thought it was awesome.

Cringing, I dialed the three dreaded numbers and relayed my state of emergency. The police department and fire truck would arrive in a matter of minutes. They might have to break in a window, they warned me. Perfect! This kept getting better.

While I waited for my personal rescue team—deluged in embarrassment, panic and pregnancy hormones—I decided to try Triple A just in case they could save my windows. And, let me just say: Triple A is not easy to get ahold of in a state of emergency! True, I don’t have a membership, and was basically calling in a total flurry to try and sign up for one ASAP so that they would come and save me. But I literally sat on the line for 10 minutes of various recordings directing me to unhelpful people before I finally hung up, annoyed.

OnStar: YES! Surely they’d help me! One major benefit of owning a GMC! My girlfriend had just told me that they could unlock your car remotely if you called and gave them your code or something. So of course I called. And of course I had never activated my account. I have no excuse for my failures.

Just then, the miles-long crimson fire truck pulled into the Trader Joe’s parking lot and headed for the frantic preggo waving her arms in alarm. People stared. Strangers worried. Six (six!!!!) handsome firemen piled out of the truck and it all must have been a scene to behold.

I’m not going to lie: They were cute and I was embarrassed.

But then they were just so nice that my humiliation started to melt.

One Hawaiian-looking gentleman with extraordinarily white teeth took it upon himself to keep Emerson smiling. He kept tapping on the window, waving at her, keeping her kicking. He also kept reassuring me that this happened all of the time. I loved him even if he was lying.

Meanwhile, another determined blonde fellow not dissimilar looking from Sean Lowe the Bachelor set to work on unlocking the car using a fancy hook tool. He jammed it into the car door somehow and, while the other guys directed him carefully, lifted the lock in no time. They opened the door, gave me my keys, and sweetly said “hi” to my daughter.

I’m not sure exactly why, but I felt like I was going to cry. My first instinct was absolutely to hug the guys, one by one, for saving me that anxious mid-morning—but then I realized I probably seemed hormonal and strange quite enough already. My second instinct was definitely to pay them, something, anything, and I unconsciously grabbed for my wallet—but then I remembered that this was their job, their incredible, selfless job, and they wouldn’t take any money from me even though I might’ve given them all of it.

So I settled for my third instinct and was only a little self-conscious when I heard my voice start to crack.

“You guys, thank you so much. Just… Thank you. I was totally freaking out and you saved my day. You’re our heroes. And this pregnancy brain is just bad—I’ll do better!”

They laughed genuinely and assured me kindly that it was “no problem” and that my “daughter was adorable” and that I should “give myself a break” and they said “big congratulations on my next baby” because “kids are the best” and told me to “have the most wonderful day.”

Class acts, those firemen. I deeply regret not hugging them.

I’m also crazy grateful that there was no window-breaking.

When I finally climbed in the driver’s seat and started the car, I turned to Emerson nervously. Just how traumatized was she on a scale from 1–10 from this whole 45-minute ordeal? Was she mad at me? Scared? Confused?

“Mama!” she said, happy as ever, a flirty little glint in her big blue eyes. “I had fun with the boys!!!!!”

I can’t remember the last time I laughed that hard, especially as she kept saying it all the way home.

I had fun with the boys, too, Ems. I had fun with the boys, too.