This is a good story.

This is a good story. I promise.

So it's wash-up time. Like bath-time except in Europe they have things (I have no idea what they're called) with an adjustable fosset for washing your bum bum. (For the kidos.)

Anyway, this is my least favorite time ever. They never want to take off their clothes, they never want to be the first one to wash, and then they never want to put their clothes back on.

It's little L's turn. She has a "hard time" listening to put it gently. So I carry her to the bathroom and close the door. She begins crying. I lock it.

For the first 10 minutes of her crying in the bathroom I have to give myself credit for being extremely calm and funny while I try to make this less painful for the both of us. She bangs on the door. Eventually I move to get the wash ready and she continues banging and pulling on the door handle while screaming for help in desperation for her brother and sister as if the world is ending. Long story short(-er), about 7 more minutes pass and I managed to get her to sit for a whole 25 seconds.

Little M, her twin, comes and bangs on the door. She hasn't washed yet either so I bring her in and lock the door again. She is calm and her being present helps little L. So I wash M first, L is much more calm but still trying to get out every now and then. Then, FINALLY, I wash L. Meanwhile M has a try at the door. Finally, they are both dry. I hear little man J come over and bang on the door. I can make out him saying that he doesn't like being alone while he desperately tries to open the door. I tell him to calm down and that I can't open it until he let's go of the handle. I try again.

It won't open.

"Let go" I yell at him again. He says he has. I try again. And again. And again.

Oh no, the door won't open.

I am part unbeleiving, part only half surprised thinking of how much the little handle just went through, and part panicking because at 9:05pm I am stuck in a bathroom with two unfed, naked little girls, I have a crying boy outside, the parents are gone, I don't have a phone, and no matter how many times I try, the door will not open.

I look out the window. The kitchen is so close but I don't think I can make it... My mind is racing devising any and all kinds of plan.

I scold the girls for what they have done but I can't help but laugh through it. I yell that I don't want to die. We are all now laughing. Meanwhile J is having panic attacks in the living room. He is just safe, ironic eh? He tells me he is calling mom, a few times, but he is so whiny I can't make out what he's saying. Many minutes pass.

An idea!

I call J over and ask him to help me. I guide him to my room to get my backpack. He gets it. Inside there is a small bag with my money and cards in it. I tell him to give me my cards. He sticks about 12 bus/train paper cards through the door. No, not those. Finally he get's my new plastic Sephora card I got 2 days ago.

Perfect!

Of course I am doing this all by wishful thinking. I've heard its possible and saw it in a movie once where someone opened a door with a card. I try. Fail. I try a few more times. The girls want to try too. Finally, I slide the card one last time. The door pops open. OH! We all let out a scream in relief. At that exact moment Mom comes through the front door asking why we are screaming.

I spend the next 10 minutes hugging and kissing the girls for making it out alive, doing the same to J for saving our lives and then through my laughter explaining to the parents what happened.

Man. That was great.