And then no less than 5 minutes later when I was collecting the rest of the crew for dinner I discovered Ben with blood all over his face. After skipping a heartbeat, and much detective work we found out he had tried to shave his lip with his dad's razor. No joke. I feel nauseous even typing it.
Both of these scenarios were caused by doors not being properly secured (the front door by a child lock not reset by one of his siblings, and the razor thing by the bedroom door, which also has a child lock, not being pulled shut...potentially by me).
I have often heard people say they are surprised their child has made it to adulthood alive. I never understood this statement until Ben. That boy is mischief personified. I seem to be incapable of keeping him safe. Just this Saturday, before Clara's party, he pulled out a chair and stood on it to get scissors to set all the balloons free of their tiresome strings. The scissors were dull children's fiskars, not capable of real injury...but running half naked in the street or playing with razors, this is something to freak out about. And I have.
So once again I redouble my efforts at this new level of childproofing I have never had to attempt before. Because if I miss something he will find it.
Oh and on a lighter, less life and death note, last night he also colored on his carpet with marker. Crayola this time, that Allie left laying around. Washable unlike the permanent marker he decorated our bedroom carpet with. And the worst part is that he showed us his new drawing proudly when we walked in the room...
"Look Mom, it's a butterfly!" Apparently my punishment for the first marker incident had no effect whatsoever. Even after I punished him this time, he clung to me crying "But it's a butterfly". Such a strong spirit, this boy. I am at a loss as to how to handle it.
And in some cruel funny bit of irony, I lost my wine key. The only wine opener we have in this house is the old wine key I had from waiting tables 10 years ago. That's okay with me because I am quite good at using it and it fits easily into the drawer. But tonight, when I decided I really wanted that rare weeknight glass of wine. it's gone. Poof. I have no doubt I will find it one afternoon in Ben's matchbox cars, or under his bed, but for now it's with an empty glass that I toast my success at being the current reigning worst mama ever.