BoomerGirl Diary

Where are your kids when you need them? I have actually thought this several times in the past few months. One frequent case is when I’m getting ready to go somewhere. The other night I was getting dressed to go to a dinner in Kansas City. Normally (when the kids were around) I’d come downstairs and Zach or Arna would make comments ...

“You’re looking pretty suburban today ...”

“I hope you didn’t pay much for that get-up.”

“Good job, mom.”

I’m used to a commentary that either sends me back upstairs for adjustments or at least lets me know what the general impression might be. So I decided that Bob needs to step up...

“How do I look?” I have to ask Bob directly.

“You look fine ... great.” Bob barely looks up from his late afternoon review session with the newspaper.

“What do you mean, 'fine'? I’m wearing my bathrobe ...”

“Oh, come on. That’s not fair. You didn’t say it was a test ... Hurry up and get some clothes on. We need to leave.”

I’m not sure that Bob can fill the gap. I remember the time I came downstairs and one of the boys looked up from his snack.

“Hey mom, you look pretty good if you’re going to a masquerade party.”

Totally unsolicited.

I felt vindicated, “It’s a round-up. Western attire.”

“I like the cowboy hat. But how many layers are you wearing?”

“It’s in a barn in Wichita. Last year it was freezing."

“You look kind of like a bowling ball ...”

Another time I actually went all the way down to Arna’s room. I realized that “business casual” probably didn’t mean my business (I can wear jeans to KU classes) or my casual (I wear sweat pants to soccer games).

“Hey, Arna. What’s up? What are you doing tonight?” That was to get his attention. He looked up suspiciously from his video game.

“You look great mom, if you are going to a hootenanny!”

“How do you even know what a hootenanny is?” Unfortunately, he was right. The broomstick skirt with the peasant blouse did bring back Peter, Paul, and Mary.

It’s not just the wardrobe critique that I’ve noticed that I need. The other night I needed them again. Bob was safe in Dallas and I decided to take Cassie for a walk before it started pouring. It was about 9:00, and nippy. I stepped out the front door, shut it, and suddenly realized I had just locked myself out with the dog.

I checked all the other doors. For the first time in at least 7 years, all of the doors were actually locked up tight. I walked the dog around, trying to think of something to do.

Of course, I didn’t have my cell phone. I went into the girls’ dorm next door.

Nobody seemed to notice. It was Friday night and girls went in and out. I went to the desk and decided to call Arna and see if he had any ideas.

“Arna,” I whispered, “I’m locked out. Do you have any ideas how I can get in?

"Where’s that extra key we used to leave outside?"

“That’s been gone for four years."

"Did you check the bathroom window in the basement?”

“Locked tight.”

“Did you check every window on the first floor?”

“All locked. Can’t you think of anything else?... This is so embarrassing. I may have to call Facilities and Operations or Campus police.”

“Let me think. I can call some of my friends. They always knew how to get in our house.”

“Oh, forget it. Go have fun while your below-average IQ dog and I wander around in the rain.”

“That was mean. Cassie is not stupid.”

“Well, I wouldn’t even be out here if she didn’t start whimpering to go out ... Wait, I have a new idea. I’ll call Langston.” Langston is one of my older stepsons.

I fumbled with the phone, trying to call quickly as more girls came and went.

“Langston, how are you doing? Are you in Lawrence or on your way here?”

“I’m in Wichita.”

“Oh, I thought you were coming to Lawrence to see your girlfriend this weekend.”

“We broke up yesterday ... Why?”

“This wasn’t a very good time to break up. I’m locked out and I need to get in the house. You have key, don’t you? .... No chance of making up, I guess.”

“No ... sorry. Did you try the second window on the back porch?”

“Yeah, thanks anyhow .....hope you’re doing okay.”

I pretended that I was a mother visiting her daughter who missed her dog so much ...

Finally the coast was clear. No girls around. I called and was routed to campus security.

I explained my situation and they began the search for the key.

“This hasn’t happened in 6 or 7 years. We’re not sure where that key is? We’ll have to call somebody from Facilities ...”

“I’m really sorry. I know it’s Friday night ...”

Thirty minutes later, a car drove up and an extremely nice facilities supervisor got out. He let me in the house, and I apologized profusely for wrecking his evening. By now, it was raining hard. I was soaked, and Cassie was totally wet and happy.

I was almost as embarrassed as Bob when his burnt toast set off the fire alarm. He tried to think of a way to blame the kids, but the fire truck came too fast. and the burnt toast was on the back porch.

As I stepped in the house, the phone rang. It was Zach, calling from Lincoln, Neb.

“Hey, mom. I heard you were locked out in the rain with the dog ...”