Fugitive.

Lately, Thing 1 and I have been locking horns. I'll write more about these episodes later (there is so much fodder, trust) but suffice to say, I was over-joyed when last week, she decided to throw me a bone and stop spewing "NO" every third word. My relief was tragically temporary as she appears to be back in her Defiant Diva saddle. Which brings me to my question:

When playing hide-and-go-seek with a four-year-old, is it wrong to wish they would just stay hidden forever?

This afternoon, we were playing the age old game between lunch and story time. I found Thing 2 easily enough -she generally squats behind a chair leg- but Thing 1 cleverly kept cover. When I still couldn't find her after several minutes of honest searching --not the "gee, I wonder where the girls could be?" when clearly, they're standing in front of the window curtains, but actually looking-- the thought briefly crossed my mind that maybe she had had enough, and run away.

Is it bad that I didn't feel the least bit concerned? Alarmed? I figured that when Mother and Father returned home, I'd explain that #1 misplaced herself, probably down the road and was no doubt enjoying the kindness of neighbors. I mean, I enjoyed the same misadventures myself.

One time when I was maybe 5ish, I decided to make a break for it. Undoubtedly, one or both of my parental units had failed me in a grossly offensive, epic manner, such as not letting me eat my toothpaste straight from the tube, or cruelly measuring only one cap full of Mr. Bubble into my bath. I had to show them and so after dinner, I marched upstairs to my bedroom. I pulled out an overnight bag and started a-packing. I effortlessly enlisted my little sister to join the expedition, as she idolized me and also at the age of two lacked the brain development to operate a straw.

Mom came in.

"What are you two doing?" she asked.
"We're packing to run away," I replied. "Do you want to help?"
"Sure."

And so, there we were: Mom, Clare, and Phyllis preparing for departure. We packed the essentials: hair brush, clean socks, My Little Pony and set off. Mom opened the front door for us and waved good-bye.

"Have fun!"

Clare and I made it to the end of the driveway and I declared the ditch near the sidewalk our first rest stop. The sun was starting to set and I distinctly remember cursing myself for not pinching a jar of pickles from the fridge before we left. Not only are they delicious for any meal, but I could also happily drink the juice in case we couldn't find a natural source of drinking water.

My little belly started to think more and more of the pickles. Not only had we not packed pickles, we in fact hadn't packed any food at all. We also forgot Clare's blankie for warmth. I began to carefully weigh our options: we could lie in the ditch, hoping for a magical change in fortune. We could walk next door to the Fox's house for dinner. Or we could re-enter our own front door and kill two birds with one stone.

Regrettably, we schlepped up the front steps and opened the door which had been kindly left unlocked. We were welcomed back and not to brag or anything, but I'm pretty sure no one had hoped we would stay hidden.