This morning I was in the kitchen and I heard Eric call me from further and further away. I thought he was heading upstairs like he sometimes does to get attention. I walked toward the stairs...
... and saw the front door was open.
Eric had run down the driveway and onto the sidewalk. When he saw me giving chase, he did what any toddler would do: he ran away from me down the sidewalk, laughing his head off the entire way. I brought him back inside and fought back my panic attack. From the first time I took Eric outside of the house, I taught him to never, ever go into the street. That little bugger tested me for months. Eric would literally put a toe past the sidewalk and smirk at me to see if he could get away with it. And I always picked his butt up and brought him back inside as Eric kicked and screamed in my ear. I could kiss the ground that he didn't go into the street. Luck? Consistency? Now how can I be this consistent on things like snacking through lunch??
John was stuck in a traffic jam from hell, but at 9pm he began installing a new dead-bolt lock that must be unlocked from the inside to open. If Eric figures out how to open the door now, I think we'll give up and hire him out to thieving thugs.