Let's Go to the Movies

John and I took the twins to their first movie at the movie theater in June--Toy Story 3.  The theater was so crowded that the twins ended up sitting on our laps for the entire movie.  They loved it.  So, in my great naivete, I thought--it's going to be 100 degrees today, why don't I take all three to the dollar summer matinee?  The movie was the "Tale of Desperaux" but it should have been titled "Michelle's Tale of Despair."  The day started poorly--I rushed them to the theater; we arrived when the theater just went dark; we ended up sitting in the front section with our noses practically plastered to the enormous screen.  The kids sat in their chairs and were quickly sandwiched in the cushions--they weren't heavy enough to hold the seats down.  Alex immediately knocked over the gigantic $10 popcorn bucket and turned it into a bite sized bucket; he thought this was no big deal since he had no qualms about eating off of the movie theater floor.

Then the fun began.  Alex made a mad dash across the front of the theater.  Leaving the twins in their sandwiched seats, I ran after him, apologizing quietly to the million people I crossed in front of.  Then, it was like ground hog day--he did it again and again.  At least seven times co-movie goers were able to enjoy the shadow of a little toddler running across the front row, followed quickly by his frantic, ever-embarrassed mother.  Then he decided to join the family in the row in front of us, knocking over their bucket of popcorn.  He then started working backwards, walking up to the family behind us, giggling, and then trying to sit on the stranger mommy's lap.  Meanwhile, the movie was basically terrible (some gray slow-moving story about a mouse travelling the world) and the twins started getting restless.  After trek number eight across the front of the movie theater, I threw in the towel, packed everyone up, and ran from the theater, hoping that no one would know the identity of the most annoying family to grace the theater.

After a short detour to the arcade (where JR ran away from me and got lost; then played every gun game that existed, all the while Zoe enjoyed "Dance Dance Revolution"), we headed to the car.  Zoe dumped my entire diet coke all over the ground and me on the way to the car.  Finally, we arrived at the car.  At this point, I was sweating, exhausted and altogether frustrated.  We got in the car and I turned the AC on since it was now nearly 100 degrees and was hot.  I then started strapping the baby in his car seat.  JR decided to get in the driver's seat and turn on every light, the windshield wipers, the hazard lights and eject all the CDs.  I dragged him to his seat, turned off the hazard lights and windshield wipers and strapped the twins in their car seats.  Then the fateful moment--I shut the sliding side door and walked to the driver's door to discover, click, it was locked!  The one button I didn't realize JR had pushed.  I quickly ran to all the doors to discover that ALL of the doors were locked, my children were all strapped in their car seats unable to get out, but thankfully, the car was still running.

I flagged down a policeman who informed me there was nothing he (or anyone in the police or fire department) could do.  I tried desperately to get JR or Zoe to unbuckle their seatbelts, but Britax was a little too reliable in this instance--neither could unbuckle the red button I was shouting through the windows begging them to unbuckle.  At first, they thought this was pretty funny, but when they realized I really couldn't get in, they all alternated crying hysterically.  I then called John, told him to get up from his desk immediately, and start walking to the car to go home.  When he asked why, I told him and he started laughing.  I, of course, thought this was no laughing matter.  He assured me that he would go home as quickly as possible, get the spare keys, and arrive soon.

Meanwhile, back at the ranch, the movie had gotten out and countless moms were streaming out with their well-behaved children staring at me with wide eyes.  Of course, I had managed to get the first parking spot in the first row of the parking lot, so everyone got to see the show (a stroke of luck that I now deemed most unlucky).  Most walked by and whispered in hushed tones.  Others walked by and very loudly proclaimed, "that mother has locked her children in the car!"  One man shouted to me, "I think there is a child locked in that car!!"  I responded, "No sir, there are three children locked in that car."  My favorite mom stopped with her three children, stood next to me, and all stared at my children (who were, for obvious reasons, increasing in their hysteria).  I finally proclaimed that if she didn't have any help to offer, she should move along.  All the while, the policeman is trying to entertain my children through the window (at various times singing, tapping, and showing them the sticker police badges that they would each receive if they were ever freed from their entrapment).

At long last (forty-five minutes later), John arrived.  I unlocked the car and drove away.  That afternoon at the children's swim lessons, I met a volunteer firefighter who informed me that (1) the policeman who helped me was a notorious "volunteer" policeman who had not made the cut at the academy and was described as "a few fries short of a happy meal"; (2) that locked children in the car was a daily occurrence; and (3) that if I had just called the real police station or fire station, they would have arrived in less than ten minutes.  I now carry my keys with me at all times.  Let's go to the movies . . . again when they are all 30.