I think “we’re in trouble” has become too mild a phrase. So this title is an abbreviation for “We’re in trouble. No, we’re doomed. Doomed!” Saturday night we were getting Sean ready for bed. He, of course, wanted to run around his room and play chase. We got him to settle for a book. I was about to get up and leave so Ben could finish the routine. Sean popped up, walked over to the door, stood on his tiptoes, reaching for the door handle, got a couple finger tips over the top and pulled down, and pulled in. And the door started to open. Ben and I looked at each other wide-eyed. We’re doomed!
Sure, enough, on Sunday we were getting ready to go out. We’d gotten Sean ready and were putting our own shoes on. Sean walks over to the door and pounds on it, as he usually does when he wants to go out. Then he reaches up, pulls down the handle, and opens the door. He sat down and scooted forward on his butt so he could get down the step of the threshold. And he was out! Ack! We’re going to have to start remembering to lock that front door — when we’re on the inside!
