Thursday, February 26, 2009


My children are trying to kill me.
This morning, I get up to dress for work, and I do what I do every morning. I went in to check on the heathens.
Number one heathen. Check.
Number three heathen. Check.
Number two heathen---not in his bed.
No worries. I knew Boo liked to crawl into Bug's bed, so I pat down for an extra body. Nope. not there. still not panicking, I look around the house, checking the couch, since he's migrated there in the middle of the night before.
No Boo.
By now, the panic has set in. I have visions of a pedophile sneaking into our home and taking my blue eyed boy and us snoring through it.
I shriek at The Man, "I can't find Boo!" and he, being military trained, jumps out of bed and pushes past me to go pat beds and stare dumbly at the empty spot in Boo's bed.
Meanwhile, I flip on the bedroom light, almost sobbing, as The Man gets on his hands and knees to peer under beds.
Spotting a blue footie clad little boy, whose rubbing his eyes, blinking sleepily, and eyeing me with suspicion as he crawls out from under his brothers bed.
He had reason to eye me. I was shaking and clutching my chest and make fish faces as I gasped for air.
Shove a nitro under my tongue. I'm done.

1 comment:

Tara said...

Under the bed? I shouldn't be surprised. It tasted good pops into mind so I shouldn't be surprised. But under the bed? Boo boy - we need to talk.