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Danger Child and the Delivery Man

I sometimes sit in awe in front of my computer, contemplating the wonder of the Internet in all it’s glorious goodness.  The Internet has been good to me, I work there, it provides hour upon hour of entertainment, and it allows me to never have to leave the house to fight other holiday shoppers.  How did our mothers LIVE before the Internet when they had to actually leave the house to shop!?

Thanks to all of my online shopping, we’ve been getting daily package deliveries.  It’s something I look forward to, almost as much as I look forward to receiving Christmas cards in the mail. The ding dong of the doorbell sends both me and my daughter rushing to the door to check out the size of that day’s package.

“Who’s it for!?” Ella will ask, jumping up and down.

“It’s for me!! It’s for me!!” I squeal with delight.  Ella then runs away crying.  I’m really good at this mothering business.

One day last week, I came around the corner to find my daughter standing at the front door, standing wide open, as she attempted to haul boxes larger than herself in through the door.

“Ella!!!  Did you answer the door?!  You know you’re not supposed to answer the door!!” Each word I spoke because higher and higher pitched.

“Is your head going to explode, Mommy?” Ella asked.  I have NO IDEA where she would have heard something like that, but luckily it didn’t explode.

See?  I TOLD you I was good at this mothering business.

I tried to calm down and explain that four-year-old little girls aren’t supposed to answer the door when Mommy isn’t standing right there.  I thought that this is something that I’d taught her at some time or another, but it’s not something we’ve talked about for awhile.  She was perfectly fine, but what if she’d answered the door to one of the creepy “tree trimmers” or “magazine salesmen” that frequent our neighborhood that I have learned to not open the door for?

Everyday since, I’ve reminded Ella that she’s not allowed to answer the door.

“Okay, Mommy, I won’t,” she’s promised with convincing nods of her head.

Of course, yesterday, as I was just stepping out of the shower, I heard the doorbell.

“Ella!!  DON’T ANSWER THE DOOOOOOOOR!” I yelled.

“OKAAAAAAY.  I WON’T,” she yelled back, “BUT HURRRRRRRY!”

I really wasn’t expecting anymore packages and it wasn’t the regular time the mailman typically arrived, so I got a little nervous when the person at the door  switched from ringing the doorbell to pounding on the door.  Wrapped in a towel and with my hair dripping wet, I stealthily peeked around the corner to see a DHL delivery man standing at the door smiling.  (Note to self: figure out a way to cover the glass on the door.)

Carefully I opened the door, using the door as a shield for my scantily clad self.  “Yes?” I asked.

“I’m so sorry, ma’am!  It’s just that a signature is required and I could hear you inside…”

“Oh okay, I was just trying to get my daughter to not open the door!” I explained as I signed my name.

“That’s a good thing ma’am, you wouldn’t believe the number of tiny kids that are answering doors with no parent around!”

Huh!  Who would every allow that?!  Oh right.  Me.  I’ll definitely continue to be a lot more careful from now on.

(photo source)

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