Same Sh*# Different Day

So I've been leaving Mo the idiot dog out of his crate for short periods of time in an effort to show him that we are capable of trusting him and giving him free reign of the house if he can show us that he is responsible enough to not eat the furniture while we are gone.
He's not.
I left this morning to run the girls to the bus stop (generally a 7 minute round trip if I time it right)
We get back home and I can't get the front door open. The handle turns but yet the door remains closed. I'm actually initially confused by this (see previous posts about brain cells leaking out with amniotic fluid) and I think there must be something wrong with the door. Nope. Turns out the idiot dog in his frantic clawing at the door (he wants to go to the bus stop with us) has inadvertently (I *hope*) hit the deadbolt latch with his paw and locked it. Trust me folks--I am not smart enough to make this stuff up.
So Sam and I are standing on the porch (with Sam saying repeatedly--"Open the door Mom. Go ahead, you can open it. Just try." And there I am trying in vain to remember where the extra key is hidden in our yard. . . (check back--I'm certain I have posted about the number of times the children have locked me out of the house) At least when the dog locks me out he doesn't stand at the window making faces and laughing at me. Actually he seemed as troubled by the fact that I wasn't coming in the house as I was.
Long story short--after hunting for the key (unsuccessfully) I realize that the minivan doors are unlocked and I can open the garage from the van and access the house that way. Unfortunately, our garage is one baby item away from being condemned so navigating through there is as dangerous as scaling Mt. Everest in heels and a cocktail dress. And I was doing it while carrying Sam (so that he wouldn't trip). So after stumbling several times and actually falling into a cascade of garbage bags filled with outgrown clothing I made it to the top of the very short stairwell which leads to the door that opens into the laundry room. Sam begins frantically clawing at my face yelling "Don't go down there Mommy, the spiders are gonna get us!!" Now, this would be a good time to mention that I am terrified of spiders. In a really big, phobia sort of way.
So I stand there willing my night vision to kick in so I can actually see where the evil spiders are lurking and the only thing running through me head is "I could be sitting at a desk somewhere happily typing away at my computer or answering my phone, having a cup of tea and discussing upcoming season premieres of must see TV with colleagues but NOOOOOOOOOO --I decided to quit my job and stay home with my children so I could get locked out of my house (by my dog nevertheless) and then break my neck wading through a butt load of baby crap and now I have to leap over rabbit sized hairy spiders that want to eat me. . . .