Break-in Bad

  Twice I have broken into my own house, the two occasions about 30 years apart.  The first time was in 1969, and my first-born child was just 3 weeks old.  It was morning and I'd fed  the baby, put her back in the crib in her bedroom, and run downstairs to put in a load of laundry. When I came back upstairs, the door into the kitchen had locked, as was the front door---I was locked out!  The front of the house has steps so the windows are not as low as you might think, but I managed to look in and see the little thing alone in the crib, her very life at stake.   I was afraid she would die, being left alone, or the house would burst into flames, kind of a normal way of thought for a first-time mother, I guess.  To compound matters, I was still wearing my nightgown, and even more problematic, the gown was one of those flimsy silky trousseau types; I did not see myself flagging down motorists, or running next door for help.  Not wanting to leave the baby, I went around back, dragged a garbage can to the front of the house beneath the window.  It was summer, and the window was up, though the screen was locked.  I found a screwdriver in the garage and used it to pry the aluminum side strip off the window, was able to push the window up, and quickly and easily pulled myself up and in.  Tragedy averted.
     Forward to about 15 years ago, and a similar  scenario presented itself.  I'd ridden over to the high school to correct examinations with a teacher performing the same task, and when she dropped me back off at my house, I  realized that since I hadn't driven myself, I'd left my keys, all of them, in the house.  Locked out again!  But this time a precedent had been set, so I thought I'd just repeat the process from years before.  I got the screwdriver, dragged  the garbage can to beneath the same window, climbed up on it, disassembled the parts of the sash, pushed up the window (again it was summertime) and climbed in.  Well, almost in.  Whereas before, I simply slipped through the opened window, seemingly effortlessly,  this time was different.  Entering from the window meant I had to place my  hands down on the floor while the rest of me  was still  outside.  Fully dressed this time, my fervent hope was that no passing motorists would notice me.  I could have used a little boost, but definitely did not want it.  I had to heft the rest of me through the window frame, leaving a portion of  my skin on the dismantled aluminum frame.  Entering meant crawling up, over, and down all at the same time, and I have to say my body moved in segments.  It had seemed so easy the first time.   The lesson learned is that things are not what they seem, nothing stays the same, and thank heaven for cell phones if I ever lock myself out again.