Oh, friends. Sometimes there are just days that go on and on...
Apologies to those of you who follow me at all on Twitter or Facebook, because you saw the carnage unfold yesterday as it happened. The rest of you might enjoy a recap.
Thursday started out uneventful enough with a placid breakfast with the children. As Jonathan and I finished cleaning the kitchen (he's my breakfast helper this week), I left the room for a moment to take a few cloths to the washing machine. When I returned, Jonathan had a guilty look on his face and there was a small, open bottle in front of him on the table.
What was in the bottle? Well, nothing. He had already downed the entire bottle.
What used to be in the bottle? Homeopathic teething drops for the baby. He wanted to know what they tasted like. Evidently they were not repulsive enough to stop him at a sip. I stood in the kitchen with the empty bottle in hand, wondering what an entire fluid ounce of chamomile and other seemingly harmless natural ingredients could do to a small child. Homeopathic bottles frequently do not have childproof caps on them, but they still have BIG! SCARY! WARNINGS! on the side about ACCIDENTAL! OVERDOSE!
So...on the phone to poison control, and ten minutes later, I found out he's going to be fine, he just might have had an upset stomach. He never did show any signs of tummy troubles, and honestly by about two hours later I kept hoping that the "soothing" ingredients would kick in and make him sleepy...or at least settle him down a little bit. No such luck.
On we went into our school day, the usual routine of silent glances to remind wandering minds what they're supposed to be doing and managing the baby, who's crawling all over and trying to walk this week. "Read the graph," and "what is the nearest whole ten," and "did you finish your copywork?" and "let's go sit on the couch and read for a bit."
Then, from out of the upstairs hallway comes a shrieking-banshee noise. Andrew was crying and crying, having shocked himself trying to plug in the lamp in his room. He was holding his right hand like a dead fish and tears were streaming down his cheeks. Eventually, with Mom's encouragement and brotherly sympathy, he was able to show us that he could use his hand, gingerly bending the fingers and wrist. Twenty minutes later, he was back to himself again, building a new house with Legos and annoying his younger brother, who still wasn't being "soothed" by the chamomile (DRAT!).
My nerves were a bit frayed by this time, but we soldiered on into the afternoon. Computer time was had by all, which is always a little dicey since EVERYONE has to be able to see Ben play their favorite game. Jonathan and Ben started getting on each other about how close Jonathan was crowding Ben, and Ben shoved him.
That's when Jonathan leaned over and bit Ben's arm. BIT. HIM. He is the runt of the litter (smallest by a long shot) but so far he is the most ornery.
As someone suggested to me later on Facebook, perhaps it was a side effect of the TEETHING medicine. Indeed.
Regardless, Ben had a big purple mark on his upper arm and Jonathan was attempting to look innocent (again). I laugh inwardly at those conversations where there has obviously been major wrongdoing on both sides, but the most vile offender is the most pathetic..."but he was getting mad at me!!!" Jonathan entreated over and over again. As if I would say, "oh, I didn't know! Well, then, by all means, please bite away! Here, Ben, give your brother your other arm so he can gnaw on that one, too."
By this time, sympathy was growing on facebook for my very long day (thank you, encouraging and humorous friends!), and I was on to making dinner. That's when I opened the fridge and found the meat drawer swimming in chicken broth. I had made up some homemade stock earlier this week; I used most of it on Tuesday night for dinner, but the leftovers remained in a Ziploc in the drawer. Well, they remained there until whenever the leak started. And then they provided a nice pool for the cream cheese and deli meat and string cheese and tortillas....
Some of it was salvageable, but a lot went in the trash.
So my funny friends suggested that I should go to bed immediately, but not before one of them had read me
Alexander and the Terrible, Horrible, No Good, Very Bad Day. I suggested that a better choice might be
Kelly and the Almost-Poisoned, Electrical-Shocked, Biting Children, and another friend replied with the title you see above,
Kelly and the Large, Beautiful, Wonderful Bottle of Valium (with child-proof cap).
But the question remains, would the Valium be for me or the children?
Kiss the pumpkin.
Kiss the pumpkin.
Kiss the pumpkin.
That is a stupid idea, Mother.
Mom: "Pretend you just ate something gross."
Mom: "Now look serious."
Eventually we always end up here.
Get AWAY from me.
