Little Girl Lost

We lost Pixie the other day. In our house. Our not-very-large, three-bedroomed house.

Hubby was in the shower, I was in the lounge getting Poppet ready for school. Midway through having her hair plaited, she asked, “Mommy, where’s Pixie?”

“I don’t know,” I replied, my attention on the weather report on the TV. “Probably in your room.”

A little while later, Hubby came in and asked where Pixie was. We looked in the girls’ bedrooms, the bathroom, glanced into our room. No Pixie. She wasn’t in the kitchen or the garden. She hadn’t somehow managed to climb into the washing machine (which has been kept closed at all times since the tragic demise of the Cupcake Book). She wasn’t in the cupboards or the shower or hiding behind any curtains. We checked our room again, this time a little more thoroughly. She was hunkered down on the far side of the bed, quietly unpacking Hubby’s DVDs. When she realised she was busted, she simply smiled, dropped what she was doing and feigned complete innocence.

Hubby and I had a good laugh about it because we’d never worried that we wouldn’t find her.

That very afternoon, I lost Poppet in the library. I should know by now that a three-and-a-half-year-old,

Image credit:

Image credit:

especially this three-and-a-half-year-old, is not going to stay where you put her, even when she has been threatened and bribed to sit on a chair and read her book quietly for just two minutes.

I had just begun to panic when one of the librarians led Poppet out from a door that read “Staff Only”. I smiled at the librarian while simultaneously glaring at Poppet, a skill mothers develop quite soon into motherhood. I plonked Poppet back in the chair, told her I would be just one minute, and speedwalked down an aisle to find something, anything, to read.

When I looked back at the chair, Poppet was not there. Of course. This time she was playing with the ropes at the counter. I gave her The Look before checking out the two books I’d grabbed, then we left before she could disappear on me again.

Next time, I think I’m going to make her follow me around and carry the books.



Talk to me. Seriously. You have no idea how badly I'm craving adult conversation.

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