One of the nice things we did over half term was to visit family in Dorset. Lunch outside on the Cobb at Lyme Regis was a real treat - who'd have thought in this wettest of wet winters that we might do that in February...
But the weather turned again and for the following day in Weymouth, Hearth-Father chose to worship at the 'cathedral of cider'. This was an airy rustic restaurant with only pizza and cider on the menu. Everyone was happy! But it was up on the third floor and had a lift to access. Once the children were finished eating they dashed off to play.
Shortly afterwards Gilby came running back into the room, shaking, purple-lipped and barely able to speak.
"Eddie's gone!" he sobbed. It took another moment to work our what had happened. "In the LIFT!" he wailed. It was absolutely the end of the world, and must have seemed as if his little baby brother had been swallowed up. After all, lifts can go anywhere, if you read Roald Dahl.
I ran to look and could just about make out a tiny voice shouting 'Mummy...'.
Thankfully the lift hadn't even moved from that floor, and the doors just opened up to reveal the miscreant, who needed a little cuddle but was otherwise unharmed.
It was touching that it was his big brother who was more upset. Less so that a few hours later they were happily pummeling each other once more over whose turn it was to play with a toy.
Currently Reading: Boring research methodology books.