Alex, Where Are You

It's Monday, and it's naptime, and Alex is doing his usual... screaming in his room. I once again face the decision to let him cry it out, or go in and see what I can do to help him give up the fight. This time, I choose to go check on him. So, I open his door and visually scan the room. NO ALEX! I switch from visual senses to audio (for some reason, they don't seem to be working simultaneously) and deduce that his cry is coming from inside something!

My incredibly slow cranial processes begin checking off possible places. Closet. No. Under the bed. No. Toybox. Possible. In fact, very possible. So I race over, sure I'll find my 21 month old child lying helplessly at the bottom of his toybox. I open the lid. NO ALEX. I call for Kirk because at this point, it's just getting a little weird!

Then I see it. The pull-out section of Alex's dresser that houses his dirty clothes hamper. I unlatch the keep-the-kids-out device, and slide the huge 3-sided drawer forward. In the back corner, I see a very sad little boy, sitting there with crocodile tears streaming down his face.

My scrapbooking instincts say, "Leave the crying child there and go get the camera. Hurry! You'll want a picture of this!" but for once, my maternal intincts win out. I pull the boy from the drawer and cuddle the 'terrified' right out of him. I have no picture, but that's okay. I will NEVER forget the day I found Alex inside his dresser.