Anson left town early this morning. He said goodbye to Roan and me at 5 AM, and as Roan moved into my bed, shed a few tears and cuddled up under the blankets with me for another hour we even fell asleep before it was time to start the real morning. A few pop-tarts, a prepared lunch and two cups of coffee later, all the boys were set and happy, dressed and warm. Roan went off to school and I endeavored to create the cleanest home possible.
There’s just a thing in me that loves to clean when Anson leaves. Probably part coping mechanism and part busy work, I change all the bedding, clean all the bathrooms, mop the floors and wipe the surfaces. It’s usually a treacherous trick to do it when Smitty + Shepz are around because they love to “help”. Obviously because they are two, the most alluring job has something to do with the toilet, the blue stuff and a stick to stir it around. But today I found myself on a lucky streak with them both mesmerized by Toy Story on the TV, nestled into the couch.
Because I was going to have the vacuum on, I deadbolted the front and back door. I didn’t want them learning how to open doors and travel into Mother Brooklyn’s arms at the exact moment I was vacuuming their room, now, right? I was feeling confident that they’d be safe for the 5 minutes it would take me to get the downstairs floors finished. So finish I did, then flew up the stairs to check on them.
And there was only one. Sheppard was sitting on the couch, with Roan’s shoes on, a Batman mask, a diaper and nothing else. That’s normal. But Smitty? No Smitty. I walked into the kitchen. No Smitty. The bathroom, no Smitty. Down the stairs no Smitty, Roan’s room no Smitty, my room no Smitty, the twins’ room, no Smitty their closet no Smitty. Bathroom again, no. Stairs again, (but faster), no. Other bathroom no. Kitchen, no! Family room no, no no no no anywhere. I checked the door to make sure it was still locked though I could see the deadbolt was still thrown. It made no sense. This boy was gone. I couldn’t hear him, and Sheppard was laughing at me saying “Where’s Smith?!?!” like it was a game. Soon I was interjecting many of these: @$# @#$% @$#%, and that game just got funnier for Shepz.
So. A few things ran through my head. Someone has obviously climbed through the window, taken Smith, and left. I am going to have to call someone for help soon. Or could I just wait…? For him to show up? No! He’s two! I am the dumbest mother in the world. How can I lose my child in my home while the doors are locked? This doesn’t make sense. Check all the cabinets. Maybe he climbed up and into one? In desperation, I finally asked Sheppard slowly and deliberately, “Where. Is. Smith?”
To which he answered, “Poop.”
And then finally, I heard a tiny whisper from downstairs. One that said, “Mama. No. Mama. No.”
I flew down the stairs and called for Smitty to hear, “Mama. No!” again. In Roan’s room, in Roan’s closet, hidden under a pile of clothes . Sheesh. He was hiding from me. And Sheppard wasn’t wrong. He was pooping. And he wanted privacy. He really wanted to poop in his diaper, in his brother’s closet, under a pile of clothes, without his mother witnessing it.
Imagine if he knew I was sharing this with the world.
Anyway. It’s interesting how long it takes my heart to go back to normal. I felt literally like I had run ten miles. The boys have no idea how their little impish senses of humor are going to age their mother. I am just saying this – from now on there will be stakes and leashes every time I leave the room. Or perhaps I will just continue to be at the mercy of two devilish saucy children. Heh, who am I fooling? Make that three. I am screwed.