Beware Water Bottles with Yellow "Water"

Yesterday the family was on the way home from the Keys after an enjoyable 4th of July weekend. As anyone who has traveled out of the Keys on a holiday weekend knows the traffic is insanely horrendous and could double, even triple your travel time home. Being so prepared my husband and I have a united attitude that we are not stopping the car until we can safely say we are in the 4 lane territory of US 1. Of course my littlest boy begins whining that he has to pee. This is at least 20 mins before we were even thinking of stopping. After making the poor child wait 20 mins to pee we take pity, stop for lunch and let the little ones pee in the bathroom. All is good except for the hour we lose while we stop. Continuing on our adventure home we make another stop a little further up at some friends house to see their new arrival. Now we are 3 hours behind on our travel home time. We are in the realm of having to eat dinner out and not getting home prior to the kiddos bed time. Fabulous! No naps + lots of time in the car watching movies = two hyper active not wanting to go to sleep kiddos who will eventually not want to wake up at 6:30am the next day for pre-k. Outstanding! Taking all this in when my littlest starts whining again that he has to pee, this time 45 mins from our destination of home, I finish the water in my bottle, give the bottle to my husband and have not just my little one but my older son as well pee in the bottle. I think I deserve a little extra w.m.e here as well because the kiddos had to be unstrapped from the car seat, stood up in the middle of the back seat while I am driving on the interstate, while it is raining with their parts stuck in the bottle to go to the bathroom. I cannot honestly say what I would have done if I had girls instead of boys.

Whatever you do, don't drink the D4

We spent Saturday at my dad's annual 4th of July weekend barbecue. There were grilled Porterhouse steaks, lots of salads, and as Dad works for a liquor distributor (he calls it doing God's work), an impressive array of drinks like vodka mojitos and pomegranate martinis.

My daughters were scoping out the place, and were hanging out in the guest room. Lauren called Dad in and a few minutes later he emerged with a red bottle.

"I think mostly she just spilled it all over herself and the bed," he said, handing me the bottle. "But I'm not sure if she drank it."

I examined the 30-year-old bottle, which only said "Keep out of reach of children". No ingredient list.

"Did you drink it?" I asked Lindsay.

She nodded, round eyed.

Dad went on the Internet to see if he could determine the ingredients. Alec called Poison Control.

"Poison control said 'It is illegal to have solvents that don't have printed ingredient lists'."

"Who knows how old the bottle was?"

"It looks like bubble solution." Alec said. He stuck his tongue in the bottle and tasted it. "It doesn't taste like anything."

He handed me the bottle. "It doesn't even taste like soap."

"Alright, thanks." He said to the operator and hung up.

"What did they say?"

"They said, 'Go to the emergency room'."

"Huh."

"That it might contain isopropyl alcohol or acetone as an active ingredient."

"I think you'd be able to smell or taste one of those."

"Yeah."

"I think we'll just keep an eye on her instead."

"Sounds like a plan."

Lindsay had no adverse effects, except some pretty foul diarrhea in the morning which could also be attributed to the quarter pound of Oreos she ate.

Queen Of The Last Minute

It's 11:33pm, the night before our town's Summer Playgrounds program begins and I've got the paperwork spread out before me, reading about how unprepared we are. We've got sunblock, water bottles, and closed-toe shoes covered. We can easily send the kids in without toys or games from home. After that, it kind of disintegrates.

There's a no peanut-butter-at-all mandate this year (last year, it was peanut-free zones), so lunches tomorrow will be yogurt, plums, and Doritoes. Ross will not eat the yogurt. Lars will not eat the plum. Chris is downstairs checking if we've got any crackers (we're leaving town for two weeks on Wednesday, so I've been letting the stores drop pretty radically).

The site for Ross' program has changed because the school we signed him up for is having some sort of renovation and I'm not sure where the new school is. Hello, Google Maps!

The schedule sent for Lars' program shows the location for LUNCH as BATHROOM/PLAYGROUND. Typo? Precaution? The only time the children will be allowed to wee? Chris and I decide that, for six hours of free care, we are willing to send Lars in to find out firsthand.

I have the feeling I should have read this stuff a week ago or something. If I leap into the car RIGHT NOW, I can make it to Wegmans before it closes and secure better lunch stuff. I'd get funny looks and possibly a citation for my clearance rack satin sleeping shorts with the hideous clown stripes and vertical runs from having a clawed kitten. We won't even discuss the clashing tank top I'm wearing (I'm saving my good PJ's for later in the week, when we'll have and/or be overnight guests). This is me, not leaping for the car.

So...Lars will eat his so-called lunch in the bathroom, while wearing sneakers and sunblock. Ross may or may not have anyone to play with, depending on if I can find the right school to drop him off. At least if he can have PB for lunch if he winds up back at home.

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Congrats to Round the Bend, winner of May/June! It looks like Karen and Paige have July off to a great start already...

Someone Else's Kid

Our immediate neighborhood posse is comprised of nine kids, aged kindergarten - 4th grade. They roam free between the backyards here, none of which are fenced in. The gang assembled just after lunch, when the parents had all decided it wasn't really going to rain and tossed the kids outside. My kids might have been tossed out in a thunderstorm - since when was showing up to lunch in nothing but your boxers ok?

About an hour after they'd all gone out, a neighbor boy who will be in Kindergarten next year appeared at my door. He'd been standing on the slide and he wasn't ready to get off the slide by another kid had gone down the slide and he had to jump off the slide and...

I held up a polite hand. "Is anyone hurt?" He shook his head and tried to start in again, but I cut him off. "Does your mom like it when you tattle at home?" His eyes gave the answer I expected. "You know your mom and I talk, right? So she'll hear about things you do over at my house?"

A wave of relief washed over him. "Well," he said smartly, "You talk at the bus stop and school is OVER."

I ducked into the house fast, so he wouldn't see me laugh, and returned with a Flav-or-ice. "Get off the slide faster next time," I said and sent him on his way. Sometimes, dealing with someone else's kid is SO much easier.

Breaking Strong to Start July

First, a confession: Zane still sleeps with me. There. I said it. I'll give you a couple of seconds to regain composure after the apoplexy. All better now? Okay, moving on.

Now the stellar bit of parenting: I let my son sleep in a puddle of his own wet last night. And when I say puddle of wet, I mean of sopping circle of pee with a diameter longer than my wee lad's body.

Zane and I entertained company for supper last night. One of my best girlfriends is going through a very rough time with her fiance. Something about a pre-nup negotiation going bad, and threats of leaving before the wedding even happens. On top of that, we both needed to vent about the new team of Junior Leaguers who seem determined to run our legacy into the ground. Plus, PG is on a 10-day movie shoot in LA and I've been feeling a lot lonely. When I added all those things in my head, I had a very good reason to throw an impromptu dinner party a deux, with all of our shared favorites: creamy tomato bisque soup; salad of baby lettuces with tarragon dressing; rosemary & parmesan cheese straws; a selection of Norman Love chocolates; and wine. Because, really, no girls' night is complete without at least one bottle of really good wine.

The little soiree went off beautifully. We laughed, we vented, we gossiped and, most of all, we drank a whole bottle of chardonnay. We said good night at 11:30pm, and I went straight to bed to snuggle with my little Z.

At 3:30am, Zane woke up crying. That is not typical for him; still, he settled back into sleep with a little cajoling from me. He awakened again at 4:00am, crying, but he settled back into sleep. Again for another 30 minutes. We repeated that routine until 5:30am when I picked him up to lay him on my chest. It was then that I discovered the puddle, and I remembered that I had not changed Z's diaper after feeding him at 10:00pm. Oooops! No wonder he had been crying. I'd cry, too, if my mama kept putting me back to sleep on a pee-soaked spot.

Not willing to sacrifice the possibility of two more hours sleep, and truly terrified of the boogeyman that inhabits the dark expanse between my locked bedroom and Z's nursery when PG is out of town, I pulled the wet PJs off my precious boy and changed his diaper from the stash I keep in the linen closet in my bathroom. I didn't have an extra set of PJs in the linen closet; and I couldn't be bothered to remember the stack of clean laundry on the cedar chest. I only wanted to get back into the bed and claim my two additional hours of sleep. Apparently, so did little Z. His half-naked little body went limp the instant we laid back down.

THREE hours later I was treated to smiles and giggles and coos - the puddle of wet a distant, repressed memory. Whew. That was close.

Wait...I Gave The Wrong Speech?

The boys have been attending Nerd Camp (more on that later) this week. Two days in, Chris was pulled aside at drop-off to be told of a "behavior incident" involving Ross. He called me immediately upon return to the car, fuming, but I had to hang up without the story as my meeting was starting up. When I got home that night, Chris said Ross wanted to talk to me himself...so I waited.

Tonight, Ross came out with it. His camp group had been playing a game of keep-away and there was some shoving and he might have been a little rough. I thought it was odd that a day-camp counselor for 3rd and 4th graders would have reported some shoving to a parent but I come from a land where kids his age were left at home on their own during summer days while mom & dad worked - I'm told it's different now and I try my best to compensate.

I talked to Ross about two things. First, as a hockey player, he instinctively positions himself well during shoving. On skates, he can shove another guy and not fall over - in sneakers against a kid who does not play hockey, Ross is a brick wall. I told him he needs to remember that because he could easily hurt someone without meaning to. Second, I talked to him about "Little Man Syndrome." Ross is not a big kid - in fact, he's a pretty small kid and it's not news to anyone. He has been dwarfed by his two-years-younger brother since age 3; he knows the score. We talked about how small guys sometimes feel like they have to act tough to prove they are Real Guys...but how all the tough-acting really just makes them look silly and everyone else will tend to avoid them.

Ross seemed to digest both points pretty well and I tucked him into bed feeling that rare moment of parenting pride in a job well done. I got downstairs and Chris asked if Ross had told me - I said yes and explained the bones of what we'd talked about. A while later, Chris and I were joking about something and he said, "Here's the part where we sand the TEETH MARKS off the girl Ross bit." The look on my face while I processed this statement must have been a doozy because Chris immediately realized Ross hadn't let on about the bite.

Even with the kids in bed, I had to struggle for composure. When I reached it, I leveled a calculating gaze at Chris. "You mean to tell me that I gave the WRONG LECTURE? I was up there all understanding and patience, thinking he needed help learning how to navigate the world while 6" shorter than his peers when I should have been filing down his teeth?"

"Yes."

"We have more wine?"

"Yes."

"Good. We need it. NOW. Otherwise, I'm getting the belt sander."