The Great Radio Heist: Midnight Mission 

10/14/25

Picture this: A modest two-bedroom apartment with a cozy living room nestled right outside the bedrooms, and a kitchen tucked quietly to the side. Mom’s place - our playground - and the setting for one unforgettable night.

Tommy’s room was a double-bed camp: two single beds with a nightstand sandwiched in between, perfect for late-night conspiracies. Mom was in her master bedroom, her party-hardened presence lingering like perfume and authority.

It was close to 1 a.m.- the witching hour, when quiet schemes come alive. Tommy and I were hanging out when I made the declaration of the night: We need music! But Mom had disciplined Tommy days earlier (for who knows what) and confiscated his beloved radio. “It’s in her room,” he said, nodding toward the wall we shared with Mom.

She was snoring softly—fueled by liquid courage, no doubt—but that didn’t dampen our plans. Tommy, the stealth expert, volunteered for the retrieval mission. “Stay put and be prepared,” he whispered. Prepared for what? I had no clue. But I perched on the edge of the bed like a soldier awaiting orders.

Minutes passed. Silence. Then movement.

I sat still, light off - just in case it was Mom. I listened, heart pounding. I heard her walking through the living room and down the hall to the bathroom. But where the heck was Tommy?

Suddenly - THUD! The unmistakable sound of disaster.

Tommy burst back into the room, slid something under the bed, dove onto the mattress, and hissed, “Quick, play dead!” No questions asked—the mission was clear.

Seconds later, I could feel Mom’s gaze burning into the darkness. After five full minutes of covert stillness, we peeked out. No Mom in sight.

Tommy flicked on the light. I demanded the tale of the near capture.

Turns out, Tommy had tiptoed past every creaky floorboard, ninja-style. He was inches from the radio on the floor by her nightstand when Mom coughed and began to stir. In one swift survival move, he flattened himself against the bedframe and boxspring, spine rigid, heart pounding, as her feet landed inches from his face.

She shuffled off to the bathroom. Once the door clicked shut, Tommy made his move—grabbed the radio and bolted.

But fate had other plans.

The THUD I’d heard was the radio hitting the living room rug. Four D-sized batteries exploded out of the back like popcorn kernels, scattering in every direction. Tommy scooped up the radio, kicked the rogue batteries under the sofa like a soccer pro, and sprinted back to warn me.

Now it all made sense.

With Mom back in her room, we turned to each other, snickering quietly about the night’s chaos.

Then came an odd sound - something between a cow’s moo and a foghorn echoing from the wall beside my bed.

Tommy perched up, pressed his ear to the wall. “It’s Mom,” he whispered. “Snoring like a farm animal.”

We burst into muffled laughter, faces buried in pillows, the tension dissolving into joy.

Finally, Tommy rescued the batteries, powered up the radio, and we lowered the volume to ninja level. Our late-night soundtrack played in the background as we whispered and laughed until dawn.

The Great Radio Heist - forever etched in our family lore.

Midnight Mooing Rating

Stealth Level: 10/10 (Tommy’s ninja crawl deserves a medal)

Battery Chaos: 9/10 (D-sized drama at its finest)

Snore Symphony: 11/10 (Mom’s foghorn moo earns bonus points)

Sibling Solidarity: 10/10 (No one plays dead like we do)

Final Rating: Moo-gnificent! 10.5/10