I do not lose my temper often. Rarely. Other than the three times in the last 3 months that Number 4 has, for no apparent reason, locked himself in his room, I cannot remember ever being as blindingly furious.
Each time, my temper flares from 0 to 100 in 10 seconds flat. My mind goes to him trapped as the house burns down around him or him choking on a Star Wars Galactic Hero or jumping off his bed to a certain broken neck. I remember locked doors being a particular pet peeve of my mother. Now I understand. I truly understand.
I beat on the door. I yelled. I negotiated. I played good cop. I threatened to call the cops. I yelled. I beat on the door harder. Crickets. Nothing. Silence. I beat on the door more. I yelled louder. I negotiated harder. I played bad cop. I threatened to call the cops. Nothing...
Finally (total of 10 minutes, tops), I got the door open with the awkward metal key-like thing kept above the door facing. And there he was, just sitting there. Doing nothing.
Now, there is no door on his room. What about all the other doors in our house with locks? I wasn't really thinking about that during my fearful anger-induced adrenaline rush.
Another day, another story,