We headed to the west coast of Florida for my husband’s work function for the last leg our vacation. We spent a week in Naples and after the first night trying to go to bed with four kids in one small hotel room, I told myself I was going home. It was one of the worst nights of sleep I’ve had and as a mother of a newborn, that’s saying a lot.
But the next day we played hard at the beach and pool, and from that night on everyone hit their pillows with a resounding nod of exhaustion. There’s something comforting in knowing that all of my kids are safe and sound in the same room as me.
Of all the exciting things to do in Naples, the most exciting event a the day for my kids was the race down the hallway to see who could push the elevator button.
One day on the sprint to the elevator, I paused to straighten a wonky wheel on my baby stroller and before I knew it my 2 year old, who was a couple of steps in front of me, slipped through the crack of the elevator doors just as it was closing. And just like that, he was gone to heaven knows where.
My first reaction was to chuckle to myself, making a mental note that yes, he definitely was my naughtiest kid and just proved it.
And then the horror…the “holy crap what just happened?!” took over and I realized how bad the situation was. The elevators in the hotel were in clusters of four, so with eleven floors that meant my son had at least 44 possible ways he could be lost.
All I could think was 44 reasons why I would not be Mother of the Year (not that I was ever in the running). My husband stayed to track the elevator my son was on while I immediately jumped on the elevator behind me down to 1st floor since I knew that was my son’s favorite button to push.
The stupid elevator kept stopping at every floor for people to get on with me impatiently pushing the door close button as soon as they loaded. This was looking bad. I finally made it to the first floor and there was no sign of him. Curses.
By the time I made it back up to our floor, my husband had the little devil. Luckily, a nice man on the elevator had watched the whole thing happen and brought our son back down to us. What could have seriously been a horrible scenario, ended with a happy ending.
My friend Brittany told me about these lemon bars on an early morning run together. Ironically food is often a topic of conversation during my runs. She gave me the recipe and told me I would eat the whole pan.
Not me, the poster child of self control. *cough*
I ate half the pan.
But then my husband ate the other half and I didn’t feel as bad.