The Invisible Bright Red Hat

Let’s be pirate elves!

Aye aye, rrrrh!

Two pirate elves – the coolest kind of elves, if you ask me – climb the blue volcanic island that is our sofa, and leap over to the pirate ship armchair that has quietly surrendered to its conquerors. It looks like it might fall apart any minute.

The volume of noise reaches a level acceptable by even the harshest pirate and pillows are thrown. Some almost hit the pile of dishes on the kitchen counter, as I squeal, Nooo!

Disaster narrowly averted, the running and jumping continues. From the corner of my eye, I spot a magazine laid out on the table, open at a page where large letters declare, “The home is, first and foremost, a place for tranquility.” While I’m contemplating this, the loud pirates hit me in the back with a ball.

Sorry, Mum!

Attempting to catch up on my messages, I sit down and take my phone, a maneuver which never fails to immediately draw the kids, no matter what they are doing. They want to take photos, and why not? They have gotten dressed up in Christmas sweaters and Santa’s hats, and I’m a big Christmas fan. Alright then!

One of my four-year-olds starts arranging the whole family in suitable poses, telling us where to sit and how to smile, and quickly resolves close-range framing issues by taking separate photos of family members in pairs. After that, his brother poses for him and he switches over to filming video.

When I grow up, I want to be a photographer! he announces with a proud smile, as he lines us up for another well-planned shoot.

I’m going to become a firefighter! his brother exclaims. It’s a terrific job!

Yes, it is, I say, and it occurs to me that never in a million years has a four-year-old ever planned to become an office worker when he grows up.

I want to be an office worker! Nope, that sentence just doesn’t work.

Suddenly, the future firefighter says, Hey, where did my Santa’s hat go?

At first, I don’t entirely register his question, but then it hits me: where is that bright red hat? Surely I should be able to spot it quite easily.

We start searching… but come to nothing.

It’s harder than it seems! our photographer states.

With all this red we have, it’s easy for it to hide, the little firefighter adds.

Do we have lots of red? I wonder.

The kids love reading Mickey Mouse detective comics, and our hat hunt quickly turns into a detective mystery. What would Mickey do? We try to trace the steps of the missing hat.

See? At 18:29 you were still wearing the hat, I say, showing the photo evidence conveniently captured on my phone.

But at 18:38, the hat is missing. Look at this picture here: you’re no longer wearing it. So, it disappeared sometime between 18:29 and 18:38. And… hang on… that’s when you took a shower!

Triumphantly, we check the bathroom, but it’s not there.

The hat has disappeared like a magic trick.

We search everywhere. Kitchen cupboards, behind the radiators, in the shoe shelf, under the sofa, above the wardrobe, inside the washing machine. Nope. I even check the fridge, the usual culprit for missing keys, and the clothesline, in case it had fallen between the folds of a throw blanket that’s drying there. I try to focus on the red things I can see around me, glancing around our living room: elf, elf, elf… (the boys have received plenty of elf decorations as gifts)… a couple of red books, elf…

It really is a mystery and we might need a professional detective. Do you have any ideas where it might have gone?