Thursday - the first day of the weekend. My weekend. You know things are good in your life when Wednesday is your Friday.

I planned on staying in all day tomorrow to clean, god knows the house could use it but after reading this I'll be taking a set of house keys to the bus stop. Not that I haven't ever locked myself out of the house before. It's happened a few times. The worst??

Girlie was maybe two years old which would make the son five (I think - whatever it's not important) the husband was plowing, which would mean it was snowing. Hard. I bundle the kids up and head outside under the deceptive guise of playing in the snow when what I was really doing was employing the son as a child shoveling laborer.

The girlie was struggling with the whole keep your mittens on idea. It turns out that if you put your bare hand in snow it gets cold and red and will hurt after doing it a gazillion times. The big dog was outside with us, he's a snow loving fool.

We're shoveling away, throwing some snowballs, reputting hands into mittens when I look at the dog, Baxter. He's shaking and cold and wet. We've been outside for awhile at this point, probably an hour. "Hey kiddo, can you let the dog in?"

'Sure' he says and ignores me. The girlie begins to cry, her hands are wet, cold and red. I tromp up the stairs and try to turn the knob. *clink* locked. Patience is not one of my daughter's virtues. She's screaming by now. I try way too many more times to turn the knob because maybe it's going to unlock itself with frantic turning and pulling. No dice.

A foot of snow is on the ground, maybe more. I circle the house brainstorming. An impossible task even under the best of circumstances. I'm carrying the two year old while she screams. The son is freaking. I send him to the neighbor - did they have a key? Somehow??? No, but they have a 10 year old daughter who will fit perfectly through the cellar window. Just as good.

I cut the screen open and then rip it some more trying to get it out of the frame as I'm not a burglar, my experience in breaking and entering is pretty limited. We somehow wiggle the window to a semi open position. The neighbor girl is kinda big and might not fit. I tell the son "Crawl through, you'll be on dad's workbench then go upstairs and open the kitchen door." He refuses. I beg. No way he says - scared of the cellar. WTF. Girlie is still crying. Damn her hands are cold. The dog is shaking like a leaf and the son thinks we're going to freeze to death in the yard. I tell the neighbor girl she's going in. We pry the window open a little more and she fits through and saves my family from certain doom.

After the fact I notice that my husband left an open can of hydraulic fluid or some oily greasy shit on his workbench. She kicked it over when she went through and spilled the entire thing all over every screwdriver, hammer, crowbar type thing he had. That and the screen didn't need to be shredded, according to my husband just do 'this' and then do 'that' and the thing just pops right out.