Quite the Day

February 15, 2013:  It all started when I was boxing up old clothes in Cohen's room.  I had a permanent marker out so I could mark the boxes; if I wasn't writing with it, it was in my pocket.  When I was done packing up the clothes, it was time for Cohen's nap.  I cleaned up the room, and wanted to make sure the marker got put back in the high cupboard from which it came, but it was no where to be seen.  I couldn't find it anywhere. Cohen didn't have it, it wasn't on the floor, I didn't accidentally put it in one of the boxes, and it wasn't in my pocket.  I figured it was safe to put him down for his nap while I continued the search, so I did.  I tucked him in and closed the door.

 I started cleaning up the house, putting toys away, and dishes in the sink.  Still no marker.  Just then, I spotted the most horrific sight a mother of a two year old could see:

Sitting in the corner of the living room was the marker lid (I'm still not sure how he managed this).  I ran into his room to find him scribbling vigorously on his carpet.  It had been about three minutes (which, in toddler time, is apparently 2 hours with the amount of marker he had already managed to get everywhere).

I snatched the marker out of his hand, then put him in my bedroom so I could figure out how to get it out of the carpet without him getting into anything else.  I googled 'how to get permanent marker out of carpet', then started dousing the areas with hairspray and rubbing alcohol.

The marker started to lift out of the carpet, so while I let the other areas soak, I went to get Cohen from the other bedroom.  Unfortunately, he had locked himself inside.  The lock on this bedroom door is not one of the grab-a-bobby-pin-or-penny-and-unlock-the-darn-thing (I tried numerous found objects just to be sure, though).  It is lock-and-key doorknob for some reason, and no one has a key to it.  Cohen was not responding to me knocking on the door or instructions I was giving him to turn the door knob, which he doesn't know how to do anyway.

At this point, I panic a little.  I don't have a key, the windows are locked, the drapes are still pulled shut so I can't see if he's okay from outside, and I can't get Cohen to respond to anything I'm saying through the door.  Not a peep.  I rack my brain trying to think of what is in the bedroom that he could be getting into, but the only thing in there are clothes, a bed, and a couple of plugs in the wall.

Other than busting down the door, there is no way in that bedroom with the door locked.  So, through tears, I got on my knees and said a prayer that I HAD to get my son out RIGHT now and to PLEASE  help me.  I got off my knees, got my keys out of my purse, and started shoving every key I had into the key hole.  The third key, our car key, unlocked the door.  I still don't understand how it worked, but it did.  I swung open the door, nervous to see the state Cohen was in (it had been about 30 minutes from the time I put him in there while cleaning the carpet).  There he was, sitting on the floor by the night stand, surrounded by a sea of gum wrappers.  There must have been a pack of gum in the nightstand, and he was going to eat as many pieces as he could before I came back into that bedroom, which was 18.

And since this post is already way too long, I won't go into detail about this that happened a couple of hours later.

Let the terrible two's begin.