Don't underestimate the strength of a frightened mother

We have always favored older homes. They can be quirky, but they also have unexpected charms. Our apartments in Montgomery, our place in Gloucester, our condo in Salem were all in older buildings and we loved them all. Sure, David's apartment in Montgomery was freezing in the winter, the floors in Gloucester sloped, and the HVAC in Salem needed some serious help, but these were small prices to pay (mostly) for the "cool" factor of older homes.

We live in a relatively old house here, too (at least by the local standards). The doors have been the biggest challenge. The hallway bathroom latch doesn't catch. Our bedroom door won't fit inside its frame. Oh, and the doorknobs all over the house stick.

This morning, I walked into Delia's closet to find her something to wear, and she shut the door behind me. This isn't unusual. It is, however, unusual for her to turn the knob. Which she did. From the inside, I turned the knob to the right. It wouldn't budge. I turned it to the left. It started to unscrew and threatened to fall off altogether. I was trapped.

It was 9:30 in the morning. I started counting hours until David came home from work. What kind of damage could Delia do alone in the house during 9 hours? Would she call her friends over to come party? Would they break into the apple juice and drink themselves silly? Would she draw on the cat? Put her babies in the oven?

I started to freak out a little bit. I don't think I could legitimately call it a panic attack, but its the closest I've ever come to experiencing one.

So I kicked the door down.

Really.

I ruined the doorframe.

Anyone know a reliable handyman?