The other day, we had a minor crisis in our home. WendyLou locked her pesky little brother in my bedroom. She immediately started freaking out. I might be evil, but it warmed my heart a little to see how much she actually cared about him. I thought it was so sweet that I even milked it a little, "I guess we could just slide food under the door for him if he gets hungry tomorrow," but stopped the second I saw how traumatized she was about it all. I thought a simple bobby pin would pop the door open in no time. I soon realized it was going to take more than that.
After half an hour of trying to open the door in my robe and underwear (it was morning time and all my clothes are in my room) I decided the only person I could call was Ryan. Wendy was alternating between covering her mouth with her hands and crying, "I'm so so sorry, Harvey. I love you. Please forgive me," and trying to comfort him by sliding his favorite books under the door and singing him lullabies. Harvey, oblivious, was just hanging out.
I finally removed the door handle and we got him out. Wendy gave him the most genuine, heart-felt embrace and was so sweet to him the rest of the morning. They even cuddled in his crib while she interviewed him about his feelings during the experience. "Were you scared in there, Chubby?" "Yeah." He answered, not having a clue what she was asking. "Did you miss me?" "Yeah." "I missed you too." It was adorable. It only lasted the morning, but it was worth it.
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