Yes, Officer, Striped Pajamas

This has happened to every parent. It even happened to me once before. Charlie (5.5) and Atticus (4) wanted to go outside and draw on the driveway with chalk, so I sent them on their way. Then I heard Max (2) yelling that he was finished with his nap. I went upstairs, got Max out of his crib, changed his diaper, and carried him downstairs, as he was saying, in the cute way only a 2-year-old can "outside, outside" meaning he wanted to go outside and play with his brothers. When I stepped out the back door I didn't see the brothers.

"Charlie," I called. Nothing.

They must have gone into the garage, so I walked out there.

"Charlie," I called again. Nothing.

Maybe they were on the second floor of the garage.

"Charlie," a little bit louder this time. Nothing.

Back into the house. "Charlie!" Nothing.

By now I am screaming. All over the house and the grounds. Around front, I look up and down the busy street. Nothing. Then I start to think "What were they wearing?" in case I have to tell the police. Charlie was wearing a blue spiderman t-shirt, blue sweats and red Crocs. Atticus had refused to get dressed for the babysitter this morning, and by the time I got home at noon, I felt like it was a lost cause. So I had images, not only of having an Amber Alert out for my kids, but the media relaying that, indeed, one of the children was wearing striped pajamas and silver Crocs at 2 o'clock in the afternoon.

I snatched up Max from the back porch and ran into the house, screaming desperately "CHARLIE!!!" This time I hear a feeble "Yes, Mommy" from the basement.

I am sure the swat on the butt hurt more through the pajama bottoms than it would have had Atticus just gotten dressed.