Where is Beckett?

O.M.G.

This past thursday while unloading the kiddies, having just arrived home from school during an already too long day, I was startled by my husband's "hey" in my left ear.

"What are you doing here?", "Where is your car?"
 I said with out waiting for a response.

He gave me his "Great to see you too, Honey" look and offered to take Baby Becks from my arms as we walked towards the front door.

I was so tired and had Such A Headache  that I hadn't even noticed his car parked in it's usual spot.

I complained about my nagging headache that felt like a 3 yearold was preforming the world's longest tap dance on my brain. I dramatically flung myself on the couch as the kids went about their typical after school routine.

Brent answered his cell phone. I placed a pillow over my head to cover the whining that was happening somewhere near the staircase. The wind  slammed the storm door up against the house. Someone asked for a snack. Brent laughed at something the caller said.

WAIT A MINUTE...is the door open? 
WHERE IS BECKETT?

(Beckett is our third child, our eighteen month old BABY)

I start running around the house yelling 
Beckett, Becks, BECKETT!!

Brent realized what I was yelling about and quickly hung up the phone.

"Look on the porch" I say. 

"Nope, not there" comes the response.

I cover every square inch of my house in the next 15-20 seconds.

"He's outside" I say, and my mommy sense tells me it's true...even though I wish it wasn't. 

(You see, Beckett has been throwing soccer balls down our front steps and watching them roll all the way down the huge hill in front of our house just about every time we have been outside, for weeks now. He hadn't yet tried to follow any of the balls but I could sense him getting braver.)

I run back outside and see a fed-ex truck coming up one end of our street and my neighbor's babysitter cruising down the other end of our usually DESOLATE road.

There is no sign of him, but Brent takes off running down the street anyway.

(I guess he trusted my mommy sense too)

There, at the very bottom of our hill stood the tiny toddler.

(The before mentioned baby sitter had stopped and literally asked the three foot jogger "where are your parents?" out of pure shock from seeing him there alone.)

Brentley arrived a moment later and scooped up our thankfully unharmed third child.

"Ball"...is the only explanation Beckett offered.

My heart eventually found it's way back up to my chest from my queasy stomach, and Brent and I learned a valuable lesson: It is easier than you think to misplace a munchkin.

Locking The Front Door A.S.A.P.

(As Southern As Possible)

Mae

SN: Don't judge me.