A week after the Escapee Mailbox incident, I heard the sound again.
Oddly enough, I actually didn’t recognize it at first.
I peered out of my blinds, and then remembered as I watched our postlady chase our mailbox down the street yet again.
But this time, she slammed it back into place with a bit more fervor, all the while glaring at our house with a considerable amount of malice and rage beaming out of her eyes.
Guilt pervaded my soul.
(Okay, my soul was still amused, but there was now a clear amount of guilt mixed in with the glee.)
So I texted a subtle Honey-Do.
Obviously, he also had a wee bit of amusement still housed in his soul.
But nevertheless, due to the fear of creating a 90’s throwback gone-postal moment, Chris went out at 10 o’clock that night and bolted the mailbox back to the pole.
So, in an effort to assuage her fears and feelings of great malice toward our household, I left a note for Postlady.
The next day, I found the note on the inside of my mailbox, attached to our cozily housed stack of bills.
All is right in the world.
On a completely unrelated note…
We still meet with our small group once a week into the wee hours of the morning. Despite the fact that we have 18 (about to be 20) kids under eight years old, we put them all to bed in every available piece of square footage in our host’s home. Then the really miraculous part comes when we wake them all up around midnight, drive them home, and put them back to bed.
And it works.
Noah’s assigned location last week was in the master bedroom dressing area.
When it was time to leave, Chris found Noah, happily snuggled into his bed, innocently sleeping atop his conquests.
Although slightly concerned with how long he’d sucked on that metal foot callous remover, I had to admire the kid’s detective skills.
Clearly, he uncovered a serious addiction to dental hygiene.