I put him down for my favorite part of the day AKA, Naptime, and went about doing very important things: lunch, People magazine, Facebook, etc. Somewhere between skimming photos of Zac Ephron's abs and chips and salsa, I heard an odd noise. In true concerned parent form, I sent Number 1 and 3 to investigate.
"Mom, where is Number 4?"
"In his bed napping," (Wow, Zac has grown up since High School Musical!?!")
"Nope, he's not in there."
"Ha. Ha. He is in his room."
"Really, Mom. He's not in there."
Not in his bed. Not in his room. Not in his closet. Not in my bed. Not in my room. Not downstairs. Not upstairs.
After calling his name 50 times and looking under every bed and in every closet, Number 4 calls out sweetly from beside the china cabinet in the dining room.
"You scared us to death! Do not ever do that again!" Cue the hysterical tears.
Back to bed and asleep again in 15 seconds.
Another day, another story,