So Chloë loves keys; perhaps because of the janglyness and shinyness of them. Many a time we have kept our anxious little one preoccupied in on a car ride by giving her a spare set of keys. But this isn't always a good thing. Mummy was at Bible study so Chloë and I went to story time and took mummy's car, which is quite fancy with electric windows, central locking and such.
Coming home Chloë spotted the shiny metal dangling near the steering column and started to yell "KEEEEEYYS. KEEEEEEEYYS!" "Chloë, we're nearly home," I replied. "You can play with them when we get home". Pulling in to the garage, true to my word I handed the keys back to Chloë, still strapped safely in her car seat. As I rested in the driver’s seat after a fun adventure, Chloë amused herself jingling the keys and pressing the panic button so the car horn beeped.
After a moment I got out of the car, closed the door and walked round to Chloë's side, tugged on the backdoor handle and. And nothing. It was locked. Hmmm, I thought. I walked back to the driver’s door and tugged the handle. Locked. "C h l o ë..." Peering through the window, there she was, legs splayed, arms all over and the key's central lock button still moist from her thumb. Several moments passed.
With my faced pressed against the window, very annoyed now, Chloë dangles the keys outside of her car seat and yells "Allll doooone."
"Chloë honey, press the button. Button. Press the button. Press it," I encourage, exasperated.
"Beep. Beep. Beep." Wrong bloody button.
Dangle, dangle. Press. Press. Click. Finally, sigh of relief as the door unlocks. Good job Chloë!
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