This morning after I got up and fed the baby, I was doing dishes and getting ready for breakfast and thought the kids were in the basement. I hadn't gone down to check, but that's usually where they are. Still, I kept thinking to myself that I should go down and see what they were doing but I didn't until I had the first waffle in the iron.
They weren't down there.
They weren't in the house.
And when I went outside, they didn't answer and they weren't anywhere in the yard.
Ok, so I took a deep breath, left the baby in his bed and got in the car wearing my bathrobe to drive down the road. They had once before gone down to the park with their tricycles before so I thought I'd check there first. Only one of the tricycles was missing though - and when I got down there, they weren't there either.
Any parent may panic at this point, but I remained calm inside. My mind kept trying to tell me to be frightened because this should be a terrifying happening. But I felt inside that the kids were just fine, I just needed to find them.
I ended up finding them at the house on the corner of our block (in the other direction from the park) playing in the dirt of that person's yard. It looked like Jameson had ridden his bicycle down there and Zachy had followed on foot. They were in trouble, of course - but I wasn't afraid because I know the neighbors on my street are good people.
The thing is, how did I know they were just fine? If they were hurt or picked up by some maniac, would I feel it? Actually, I believe I would. And I'm grateful for that.