The search began in the kitchen.
Under the table? Behind a chair? In Little One #1’s backpack (hey, it’s happened before)?
No, no and no.
The search proceeded to the living room, then downstairs.
In a pile of laundry? Beside the couch? In the (gulp) stove?
No, no and (thankfully) no.
Daytime Dad wipes the perspiration that’s beaded his forehead.
He races back upstairs, checks two bedrooms and a bathroom, then doubles back to the living room.
“OK,” he thinks, “this is serious.”
Frantic and flustered, Daytime Dad bolts downstairs a third time and finds Little One #1, who is smiling on the couch.
“Where is it?” Daytime Dad asks.
“What?” Little One #1 answers.
“You know,” Daytime Dad responds, this time in a wee bit louder tone. “Blanky. What’d you do with it?”
“Nothing,” he replies.
“No, you did something,” Daytime Dad says. “Where is Blanky. Your sister is trying to nap and she can’t do it without Blankey. Where is it?”
Little One #1 shuffles his feet, pauses and then says, “I don’t know. I didn’t do anything.”
Daytime Dad circles the house again — let’s try the fish tank — but the search still comes up empty.
Meanwhile, an overly tired Little One #2 wants to go to sleep but can’t.
Why?
No Blanky, no sleepy. Period.
The cries from her crib compound the chaos.
“Where is Blanky,” Daytime Dad yells downstairs.
Little One #1 gets up from the couch, clearly amused, and finally responds, “I put it under my bed. I wanted to protect it.”
“Protect it?” Daytime Dad asks. “From what?”
Little One #1 didn’t offer an answer and, truthfully, Daytime Dad didn’t want to hear one, either.
Daytime Dad races back upstairs to Little One #1’s bedroom, completing what is now a legitimate cardio workout, and dives on the floor by the bed.
There, nestled in a ball adjacent to an orange Tyrannosaurus rex, sat Blankey.
Although blue and white, it looked gold to Daytime Dad.
He scoops Blanky up and returns it to Little One #2, who took it with such incredible and impressive force.
Daytime Dad plants a kiss on her head and quickly exits the room, expecting to hear a few more cries.
Instead, silence.
Daytime Dad scampers back downstairs, where a laughing Little One #1 awaited.
“Don’t worry,” Daytime Dad says with a laugh, “your time will come.”