Friday, February 08, 2008

Call the cops, a Brat is loose.

Someone sent me a forward the other day, about someone calling someone's house. A child answered, and said the parents couldn't come to the phone, cause they were with the police. As things progressed, the child spoke of a helicopter circling the house, and things were looking bleak. The caller finally asked what was going on, the child confessed that they were looking for something. Him.

Reminded me of an episode with our bratty gurl. She was about four. We had a couple of hubby's friends over, and they were watching a game. I had worked nights the night before, and hadn't had any sleep yet, so about 5:30pm, I went to bed. Woke up two hours later with hubby frantically shaking me, asking where The Brat was.

Heck if I know, dude, I'm tryin' to sleep here.

He had no clue where she was. I pried my eyes open and asked where she was when he saw her. He said that she had gotten mad at him (some things never change), because he wouldn't let her have a brownie. She had gone out on the porch, sat on the porch swing, and that was the last he'd seen of her. It had now been 45 minutes since he'd seen her.

Time for a Bratty Gurl Alert.

Now, I knew that this child had not gone anywhere. She HATED to walk anywhere, her bike was in the garage, and I knew she had to be in the house. So I, being the mom, gave him a look of disdain and went to it. Except I didn't find her. By the time I came back downstairs, hubby was in a panic, and said he was going out around the block to see if he could find her, and told me to call the police.

Within twenty minutes, we had upwards of 50 people searching the neighborhood for her. We have a very, very active crimewatch, and they went full tilt this time. Some went to the park two blocks away, they were checking bushes, and the police came and searched the house. Our neighbor is a sheriff, and he went through the house too.

No Brat.

I kept saying that there was no way this kid had left the yard, but hubby, who had given up smoking for three years, lit one up and paced. I finally told him that I was going up to her friend's house, two blocks away, to see if, by chance, she was there. I knew that she wouldn't be there, because she'd have to cross a BIG street, and no way she'd do it. I was right. Came back, still very puzzled as to what was happening. She was on the porch, in the hubby's arms. Oye. I asked him where in the world he had found her, because two hours had now elapsed.

"She was in your bed," says he.

What the heck? How could she be in the bed, if I was in the bed? Of course, this child loved to climb in bed with us, but I knew full well that there was no brat in the bed when I was there this time. I was now more confused than Paris Hilton when her grandpa gave all his money away.

Turned out that she had come into the entryway from the porch, but never came into the house. She had gone straight into the coat closet -- the coat closet that hubby and I didn't check when we searched the house. Apparently, she moved out of the closet at some point, because when the police checked the closet -- I was standing there watching, and remarked that we hadn't checked it -- she was gone. When I was up the street, hubby went in our room and, on a whim, threw the covers back. The covers were askew because of course, I had been sleeping there -- and there, under the tangle of covers was The Brat. She was too tiny to see till he pulled the covers back.

The police just rolled their eyes and said "you know, they're always in the house." Shrugged their shoulders and left to get doughnuts.

Took a while to recover from that little drama, and The Brat has loved to keep things interesting since. I figure that she'd be a little easier to find if she wore this cute

bright yellow Lanz wrap sundress from petitesuite,, formerly called 9shocksterror on ebay. Not sure why they changed it, but it is exactly how to describe it when the Bratty Gurl goes awry.

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