This is my youngest son. He’s four and readers of this blog know that he’s been a bit of an adventure this year. To recap, earlier this year, he woke us in the middle of the night and had to be rushed to the hospital. This innocent little boy is also the person who bruised my rib a few months ago. And there is so much more.

Well, Eamonn has struck again…

My wife is taking a class this weekend and won’t be back until Sunday. She left me alone with the boys, which is something that usually turns into something half party, half whirlwind housecleaning. Today, during the fun section of our day, Eamonn (as he often does) went upstairs to play while I stayed downstairs with Aidan. Nothing out of the ordinary.

But wait… it’s too quiet. Eamonn isn’t quiet. Not even when he sleeps.

I go upstairs. No Eamonn.

I check the bathrooms. No Eamonn.

I check the front door. Locked.

Now I’m calling him. Louder. Louder. LOUDER.

Not a peep. Eamonn can’t play hide and seek without giggling, so I’m beginning to think he’s hurt somewhere. The back door is locked. The basement locked. I’ve been through all the rooms a few times. Bathtub empty. Under the sink, no. Under the bed, NO. I’m very seriously concerned and his brother has now joined the hunt.

We’re running around for what feels like forever (but more probably 30 seconds) when I cross paths with Aidan again in the living room and hear something.

“Shhhh! Did you hear something?”

“No” (knowing Aidan, this was a silly question. I swear, a bomb could have rocked the house and the answer would still be “no”)

I think it was upstairs and with Aidan hot on my heels, we get up there in time to see Eamonn crawling out from the comforter on my unmade bed, grinning like a cheshire cat and totally naked. (don’t ask)

I am so doomed when he becomes a teenager… if I live to see it.