A few minutes ago I was washing dishes. The water was running, which drowned out the sound of the kids. You know how it is…you can hear the screaming but you can’t make out conversation when you’re running the water in the kitchen sink. I was vaguely aware that Trey was playing with army guys and Reagan was playing with a stroller. Zach had been playing with his new bike at some point but I wasn’t really paying much attention.
Suddenly there’s a knock on the door. I tip toed quietly toward the door because I’m still wearing my pajamas and I really don’t want to answer the door. But Trey yells, “WHO IS IT?” So my cover’s shot. Reagan and Trey run to the door and for a split second I wonder where Zach is.
Until I look through the peep hole and see Zach and an unknown woman at the door. It turns out Zach rode his bike to the park (about 1 1/2 blocks away) in the time that I was doing dishes!
The neighbors across the street from the park saw him and rightly suspected that he wasn’t supposed to be out. This is what he looked like…
I can’t imagine what tipped them off!
I’m so grateful for Kim (my newly introduced neighbor) who brought home my bike-riding, mostly naked, almost-three-year-old son from the park.
This is what I can’t figure out, though. How the heck did he get out?! When he came home the garage door was closed and I unlocked the dead bolt and the chain from the front door.
He said he went out the garage but even if he could open the big door and I didn’t hear it over the running water, how did he close it again? It’s not like he knows the code to the key pad or has his own clicker. I’m stumped!!!
He’s killing me! This is the same kid that kept running away at the church camping trip. The same kid we found down by the pond because he climbed over the fence. And the same kid that almost hung himself when he decided to scale the climbing wall on the playset with a whistle around his neck. I rescued him when I heard him crying. The whistle was caught way up high and he was holding on for dear life. Ahh!
He’s one of those kids that unless you tell him specifically, “You are never to do ____,” he’ll give it a shot. The older boys seemed to have more natural, inborn caution (aside from a few notable moments.) With Zach I need to write up some rules.
Thou shalt not ride to the park in your underwear alone
Thou shalt not climb over the fence
Thou shalt not play with strings around your neck
Thou shalt not lick water off an exhaust pipe
He rarely does the same naughty thing twice but I’m having trouble proactively heading off all his great imaginings.
