"If I stay hewre, I'm gonna be late fohwr my neighbohwrs."

It started this way:

"Small Fry, take your thumb out of your mouth."

We managed to break the pacifier habit, but we still have the thumb thing.  Both twin Fries, in fact.  So they're only supposed to suck their thumbs now when they're in bed.

Small was clearly not in bed, but sitting on the floor, w-style (that was going to be my next correction), by the paper bin in the dining room that holds their coloring books, construction paper, crayons, pencils, and scratch paper.

Small recalcitrantly pulled her thumb out.  "I'm gonna go away, an' not say hewre anymowre!"

"Oh, you are?"

"Yes!  I'm gonna go away, an' nevewr come back!"

I'd detail more of the conversation, but it pretty much repeats ad nauseum for the next fifteen minutes, as Small trails me from the dining room to the laundry room to the bathroom.

"So where are you going to go?" I finally asked her.

"To my fwiends house."

"Which friend?"

"To Shehwlby's."

"Do you know where Shelby lives?"

Small nods her head defiantly.

"How are you going to get to Shelby's?"

"I'm gonna walk, becawse Daddy has da cawr."

"How are you going to do that?  You can't even cross the street by yourself."

Not to be dissuaded.... "I'm gonna go to da neighbohwr's."

"You are?"

"Yes.  An' if I stay hewre too long, I'm gonna be late fohwr dem."

"They know you're coming?"

Mutinous silence.

"I'm leaving an' I'm nawt coming back.  You'll nevewr see me again!"

"I'll miss you!"

"I'm not gonna stay hewre anymohwre."

"Well, I wish you would.  I don't want you to go.  I love you."

"But if I stay, I'm gonna be late fohwr dem."

This was about when I realized I was in over my head.  So I did what any decent, self-respecting mom does: I called my own mother.

Who was not at home, my father said when he answered the phone.

So I figured I'd give him a trial run.  "What should I do with my little wannabe-runaway hooligan?"

He laughed and asked which one, and why.  I explained the whole thumb-out thing.  Dad wanted to know what Small was going to do to enact her statements, and I said she had a whole plan and I'd had to stop her from going out the door twice.  Dad even talked to Small and asked how she was going to come see him tomorrow if she left home today.

Small's answer was the same.  She would be late for them if she stayed a little longer at home.

I'm still trying to figure out where she got this whole late concept.

I called Mom's cell next.  I got shouted advice from more people than I could count, since she was with her stamping buddies.  Mom suggested getting Small to talk through her plan (see above), and to let her go out the door, as long as I could watch her to make sure she didn't go too far before reeling her back in.

And we might want to consider hooks-and-eyes near the top of the doors to prevent non-accidental escapes when I wasn't in a position to stop them.

I called Hubby.

He laughed.

He talked to Small, too.

Once I was off the phone, I fixed lunch.  Small helped, preening with importance.

She hasn't said she's leaving again for almost an hour.

Fingers crossed.

I think I'll take my goobers for a walk to burn off some energy and/or cabin fever.