As I was spell checking and publishing the last post, I noticed the basement get mysteriously quiet. I went to the stairs and saw the door was open, and Nugget was not down here with us. I ran up stairs, and there was Nugget. I guess he was thirsty. He went to the refrigerator, opened it up, selected his milk (he drinks something different from the rest of us) , carried it over to the kitchen table, put his sippy next to it, and had climbed up in his chair. When he looked up and saw me, he said, "Moe?"
You hear these horrible stories of single parents dying in apartments, and the cops finding the kid three days later in the apartment, and they've survived against all odds. I do not worry about my kids. If I died while the hubs was out of town, I think they would be ok, and they wouldn't be living off of toilet water and dry noodles!