She likes to play "Mailman". I'm the mailman. I knock on the door, and when Char opens it, I hand her imaginary things like puppies, kitties, and toilets (don't ask).
We do this in the five storage sheds, and it's a pretty fun game, but it got scary one day back in July. At the fifth house, Char wanted to be the mailman. So, Daphne and I dutifully went in, but when we closed the door, Char slammed the outside handle into position. There wasn't a handle on the inside of the door, so we were locked in.
That meant we had a three-year-old girl standing by herself in a busy parking lot, and we couldn't get to her.
"Char! Open the doors!"
"I don't know how." Her voice was muffled, but she didn't sound alarmed.
"Charlotte! Open these doors! We can't open them from in here!"
"I can't. It doesn't turn!"
While worst-case scenarios ran through my head, I started to freak out a little. I began to slam my fist against the thin door, hoping it would pop open, but it wouldn't budge. I considered kicking the door open, and then sheepishly paying for the damage I caused, but Char was standing on the other side of the door, and I didn't want the door to hit her when it flew open. I didn't know if I was angrier at Charlotte or the fool that didn't put a door knob in here. What were we going to do?
And then the door swung open, Charlotte popped her head into our hot and humid space, and she sang, "Mailmaaaan!"
Once we calmed down, Daphne did a good job of explaining to Charlotte what she did wrong, and how dangerous it was. Char apologized as we weaved through the parking lot, and as I lifted her into her car seat I got to use the line that all relieved parents say, "And don't ever do that again!"
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