Trapped!

Well, our family usually has about one adventure a week, just to keep things interesting around here. Ours came about early this week, on Monday evening to be exact, and it was a doozy. Since hubby is away, one of my friends invited me over for dinner and conversation. She has two children, ages 9 and 7, but despite the age gap, they play really well with my son. It's nice to have friends who are native English speakers here :-)

Things started off well; the kids played together upstairs while Gail and I prepared dinner and chatted. We ate dinner without any mishaps, then the children went back upstairs to play for a while. All of a sudden, we hear pounding on one of the doors upstairs and the kids are yelling. The 9 year-old comes running downstairs to tell us that his sister and my son were locked in the utility closet and couldn't get it open. Gail and I rush up the stairs and begin to try to open the door. We tried everything -- keys, screwdrivers, credit cards; we even tried removing the handle from the door, because by this time, it was obvious that the handle mechanism was broken. The utility closet is located on the third floor of the house, and there was no way for us to get in from the window. So, next came the more drastic measure of attempting to kick the door down. Nothing worked. After about half an hour, we realized there was only one solution left -- call the fire department.

Gail calls the fire department and explains the situation (in Hebrew) while I'm upstairs trying to keep the kids calm. We wait around for about 10 or 15 minutes, then get a call from the FD saying that can't find the house. So, Gail runs down the street to direct them to the house. Meanwhile, my daughter is crawling around, slips, bangs her head on the floor and bites her tongue, causing blood to drip out all over the place. I go downstairs to wash her up, which is when Gail arrives with the fireman and a local police officer. Apparently, because of her narrow street, the firetruck was unable to get to the house. At the same time, her mother-in-law arrives, freaks out and starts asking rapid-fire questions in Arabic while Gail is trying to talk to the fireman in Hebrew. Fireman goes upstairs, asks Gail if she has a key (DUH! WE TRIED THAT ALREADY!), and then asks permission to break the door down. After kicking the door about 15 times, it finally busts open and the kids rush out.

As we all go downstairs, thankful that this is over, the fireman gets Gail's information. Gail's mother-in-law is STILL asking about a bazillion questions (which I'm trying to answer), and as soon as the fireman leaves, Gail lets loose on her. And frankly, I don't blame her for being angry. Between the kids being naughty, her MIL's nervous state, and the damaged door, I think she had enough! I packed up the kids and she drove us home. And once I got the kids in bed, I poured myself a (large) glass of wine and sat down with a book. I needed some time to unwind.