The Day(s) The Monkeys Ran Away

My children have a charming and endearing habit as of late.

They run away. 

See, Sterling has gotten *just* tall enough to reach the deadbolt lock on our front door, and helpfully unlocks it for Bennett every chance she gets. 

And Bennett? Bennett is a runner. An incredibly fast one considering how short and stumpy his little legs are. 

I got all creative and found a way to secure the front door, so they then discovered the door off of the mudroom. 

Awesome part about that door? It's eerily quiet. It glides open and shut with hardly a noise. Which means I can't hear them making a break for it when I am emptying the dishwasher. Or filling the dishwasher. Or scrubbing peanut butter out of a pair of sandals. Or trying to get chocolate out of the carpet. Or... pretty much anytime I am even slightly occupied. 

Usually the only indicator I have is an ominous LACK of noise, followed by that sudden jarring realization that there is no slamming or crashing or screams. 

So yes, I have become an expert at the heart attack scramble, an undignified rush to the yard to figure out where their ornery little butts are TODAY. 

So far, the best adventure was the day that Bennett made it all the way to the stop sign about two blocks down the street, in his jammies. And I chased after him in what I later realized was an incredibly skimpy nightgown. 

Yep, pretty sure my neighbors love me...

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