Lockout

This morning was a bit of a whirlwind. I had to tackle some work today, so I was getting Marshall ready for daycare. Off with the dirty diaper and PJs! On with the shirt and pants! In with breakfast! Let's brush our teeth! Prepare Marshall's diaper bag! Wrestle him into his snowsuit! Scramble into my coat and runners! Lock the doors! Snap Marshall in his car seat! Start the car! Get out the garage door! Push the button and watch the door close behind us!

Here we go!

I saw the Hydro-Québec truck on the street on the way to the daycare, but didn't think much of it. It was only after I stripped off Marshall's snowsuit and kissed him goodbye, when the power zapped off, did I remember last week's automated message from the power company: "Please note that your power will be shut off from 8:30 to 10:30 a.m. for scheduled maintenance."

Ohhhh nooooo. Am I locked out?

I rushed home, relieved to see a few porch lights on as I rolled down the street. Could the power still be on at my house? I pulled in the driveway, mashed my finger repeatedly on the garage door remote. No dice.

I vividly recalled locking the doors before leaving, but I thought, Maybe, just maybe, I just imagined it. I clambered up the stairs to the front door and jiggled the doorknob. Locked.

I scaled the snowed-over steps to the backyard and hoisted myself up over the back gate, remembering how inflexible my legs are. I walked carefully through the backyard, avoiding the dog-doo mines. I tried the patio door. Locked, too. The dog was going berserk inside. "It's just me!" I yelled at him. I considered teaching him how to flip up the lock on the sliding door. That would be a way to kill time, I guessed.

I tried the basement bathroom window for the hell of it, wondering how I'd be able to wedge my body through the small opening. One pane slid easily; the other three were locked. Take that, burglars! Take that, Amy!

I trudged back to the gate, hauling my body over the fence once more. I saw my neighbour reading the paper next door. I prayed she didn't see me teetering unladylike on the gate. I headed back to the front of the house.

What to do? What to do?

I didn't want to take the car anymore. It had made a funny noise earlier that morning and I wanted Jon to check it out (too dangerous for ME, but my husband can drive it!). So, I set off on foot to the only shopping mall in town. I use the term "mall" loosely. You can count the number of stores on a hand-and-a-half. On the way, I felt the crispy ends of my ponytail, remembering that my last haircut was 10 long months ago.

I made a beeline to the hair salon. It was open! Hooray! And they had room for me this morning! Double hooray! I quickly explained that I was locked out the house and apologized for my drab garb. After all, I had intended to come home and work. "Thankfully, I brushed my teeth before leaving the house!" I confessed. The receptionist laughed worriedly.

I was a little surprised to be paired up with a male hairdresser. Don't get me wrong. I lived in the city for close to a decade and have had my hair cut by guys before. I just don't recall seeing a man in our quaint little hair salon--ever!

"How long have you been working here?" I asked him curiously.

"Since November," he replied.

"I don't ever remember seeing a male hairdresser here," I said incredulously. "Do some women seem surprised?"

"Yeah," he admitted. "Some people are."

My comment must have rubbed him the wrong way, because I have never had such a quiet haircut. But, HEY! I am the mother of a toddler. I didn't mind the silence.

"I really want to remove the damaged ends," I said, "But if you want to get creative and add more layers, go ahead!" I said, flashing a big, encouraging smile.

He snorted.

Okay.

I observed the leopard-print dye job in the young hairdresser's close-cropped hair. He sniffled repeatedly as he snipped off the dead ends. The mother in me wanted to snatch a crumpled tissue from my pocket and give his nose a dab.

I finally saw him smile when I handed him a tip.

Thirty-five dollars and a fluffy new 'do later, I pulled on my coat and asked what time it was.

"Ten-oh-three," he replied.

Not bad, I thought. The lockout is almost over!

I headed back home, grateful that the sun was warming up the street. As I turned the corner, I saw the Hydro truck heading out of the neighbourhood. That put a spring in my step! I hurried home. I gave the garage door opener another try and breathed a sigh of relief. I'm in!

So, it wasn't the end of the world. I found out my house isn't easy to break into. I got some fresh air. AND I got a new haircut to boot... but I guess I should find that handy house key.

And now, well, it's time for me to put my nose back to the grindstone... after a cup of hot cocoa.