I lost Charlie. Don't worry. I found him. Obviously. If I hadn't I surely wouldn't have time to blog about it. I'd be scouring the community looking for him, posting his picture on all available light post real estate. I'd be on the local news imploring the community to come to our aide and help find this child. Or maybe I'd be in jail because CPS thought my laissez faire parenting attitude was a little too lai-ssez (see how I did that there? I love puns.)
Nevertheless, I lost Charlie. It was only for about one minute, but man was it an intense minute. Where did I lose him? Nope, not in any of the usual places (eg, the grocery store, the mall, the zoo...) No, I lost him in my bedroom, while I was in there, with the door shut. I blame it on sleep deprivation. Sleep deprivation and rather spirited children.
It was a Saturday and Billy was in the garage escaping the madness working on some shelving. Laundry was calling, as usual, and so I corralled the boys into our bedroom, turned on Mickey Mouse Clubhouse and went about finishing up the folding and the putting way.
The boys had been chirping away and then I realized, it was quite. Very quiet. Too quiet. I looked over and there Beau sat enthralled by Mickey and Minnie and whatever crazy adventure they were up to that day (I believe it was "dogsitting" Clara Bell's doggie, but that's neither here nor there.) And then I noticed...Charlie was missing. I asked Beau, "Where's Charlie?" He ignored me. "Seriously, Beau, where's Charlie?" Again, his selective hearing got the best of him. I panicked.
I ran to what I thought would be the most dangerous place in the master bedroom suite (yes, I said "suite" - our bathroom connects to the bedroom) - the water closet. Charlie has recently become quite the climber and I had this vision flash in my mind that I would find him, face first in the commode. I dashed to the bathroom. Whew. No Charlie. Crap. No Charlie.
"Beau, where is your brother!?" Nothing. Well, he might have whispered, "O' Toodles!" but that is simply not helpful.
I checked the tub (yes, he can climb in the tub), the shower, the linen closet. Nothing. Then I heard Beau giggling. And then I heard Charlie's belly laugh. "BEAU! WHERE IS CHARLIE!?" Just giggles.
I turned back to look into the room and Beau was standing, dying laughing. I'm talking doubled over, hands on his face, can't catch his breath laughing. But he refused to tell me where his brother was. Well, Charlie had laughed, so surely he hadn't broken a limb or wasn't bleeding out. I was a little relieved. A little.
So where to check next? My closet. Nope. Billy's closet. Nope. Back to the bedroom. (I realize now that writing like this makes our "master bedroom suite" seem enormous - it's not. There are just enumerable places for a sneaky little boy to hide.)
And then I heard the belly laughs again. "Well, at least he's enjoying this," I thought.
Exasperated I walked into the bedroom. "Beau, honey, please tell Mommy where Charlie is." "Right there." "Ok, where right there?" And then finally Beau helped. He got down on his hands and knees laughing and said, "Mommy, right there," as he pointed under our bed.
Charlie had managed to "army crawl" his little self under the approximately six inch space beneath our bed boards. He wasn't stuck by any means, but he apparently thought that his new hiding spot was just magical. After some coaxing (because let's face it, I certainly couldn't fit under there to get him) he crawling back out, laughing and covered in cobwebs.
I lost my kid. And apparently I need to do a much better job at dusting.
