Sanctuary Lost

The one place, the ONE PLACE, we've had to ourselves in this house is no more. You could spend 10 to 75 minutes in there, without interruption from the kids. Door locked, a perfectly good excuse to be in there, and just breathe the quietness in. But not too much breathing. Then Owen learned about keys.

I would blame the wife, she's the one who replaced the door knobs throughout our downstairs, but that would be unfair. We bought the house with the cheap gold builder spec knobs but she picked up a bunch of brushed nickel knobs for the downstairs so we could be high class. They look fantastic compared to the old ones, so she hit a homerun for aesthetics. She struck out with toddler security. The cheap gold ones have the hole you can insert a screwdriver or other thin piece of metal to push the interior button and turn the knob. Takes a little skill. The new fancy pants knobs have a basic slot unlocking system. All you need is any key and the basic motor skills of a 3 year old.

I know it takes the motor skills of a 3 year old because I was in the downstairs throne room with door locked when there was some knocking. Knocking is not uncommon, I can ignore knocking. Then I heard the tell tale jingle of keys. Whatever, kid, take your best shot. No way I'm teaching you how a lock and key works so it's safe in here. Imagine my horror when the lock tab went from vertical Daddy happiness to horizontal hello world. Door swung wide open and I was face to face with this:

I'm Super Proud of My Accomplishment! Do you need any help?

I would just move upstairs, but he also knows how to open the gate on the stairs. Plus our master bath also has fancy pants french doors that don't lock. So, there goes our only place to get away for a break. 

Of course, I have a fancy pants drill, super-powered drywall anchors, and a plethora of lock varieties at the local hardware store. The inside of our loo might soon look like a maximum security prison, but I WILL have my sanctuary.

CK