Last Friday Charlie and Joe did not have camp, so they joined me at my office. A few months ago we moved into new office space on the 14th floor of a historic downtown Houston building. When we left at the end of the day, the boys wanted to take the stairs down to the lobby.
I wasn't about to do the same in heels, but I figured if they really wanted to, why not. They are eight years old, and it's not like they could get lost inside the stairwell. I would beat them down taking the elevator, and I would be right there waiting in the lobby when they got to the first floor.
But when I got to the lobby, I realized that I didn't know where the stairs came out. I looked around where I thought they should be, but I didn't see anything. So I finally asked the security guard, who said that they came out "somewhere outside on the street." I went outside, but still had trouble finding it.
Eventually, they came running out from the lobby. They had come down fourteen flights to the first floor and found themselves out on the street, and couldn't find me. Since they weren't sure how to get back to the lobby, or even to the building, from there, they decided to go back up. They went up six floors (for a total of twenty floors navigated) before they found a place where they could enter the building again from the stairwell. They got out on the sixth floor (someone's office, I'm sure), and took the elevator down.
They were breathless, but of course fine. So we headed to the parking garage a block away, where I was parked on the thirteenth floor. And immediately upon arriving there they ask: "Can we take the stairs?" So they headed up thirteen flight of stairs to my car.
This is why I say, multiple times a day, that I wish I had my kids' energy.