A first (and hopefully a last...): I called 911

When Grace was six weeks old, she scratched herself in the eyeball, and we brought her to the emergency room. That is the end of emergency treatment for our daughter to date. The rest of her treatment from healthcare providers and emergency personnel is limited to run-of-the-mill ear infections and chicken pocks. She had the Flu once...

Wes is in an entirely different category. I have called the on-call nurse with questions about head injuries sustained while climbing. I have called poison control TWICE (once for some homeopathic thing I don't remember, and once for ingesting CAMPHOR that had been in the humidifier on the TOP of his dresser). Last Spring, we brought him to the ER for "labored breathing." A breathing treatment, two popsicles, and a chest x-ray later, we were $2000 in the hole. Whatever. Today, this boy reached a new level of mayhem.

I took Wes and Grace with two of my friend's kids to the water park in our community. Wes is turning 3 in 15 days. Grace is 4. The other boys are 5 and 7. The water park is fenced--one of those "Water Feature" things that has various ways to squirt kids in the face with water and give parents a break. I had just given the "5 minute warning" to all kids. I was talking to Grace, looked up and couldn't immediately spot Wes. This is how it went down.

Minute 1: Internal voice, "don't panic. He's in this fence. The place is fenced," while I stalk the interior of the water feature.

Minute 2: "he's not in here. Don't panic. He can't be far," while screaming at the other kids to STAY PUT, sprint out the gate and survey the landscape while chanting to myself "Orange shorts...look for orange shorts"

Minute 3: Internal voice: "Dear heavenly Father, please help me find my son." Dial 9-1-1. External Voice "I'm at Veteran's park near the water feature. My two-year-old son is gone. His name is Wesley. He has bright blond hair. He is wearing Orange swim trunks with no shirt. I haven't seen him in three minutes" while running toward the playground where he may have gone...

Minute 4: Plead with 9-1-1 operator to send someone quickly (she's assuring me several people are on the way)...

Minute 5: Blubber as coherently as possible to the nicest police officer I've ever met exactly what happened and that I have no idea how tall my son is but he weighs 40 pounds. Call Jerry and explain to him that Wesley got away from me, I have called 9-1-1, and police are searching the vicinity.

Minutes 6-five zillion: Wait at the water feature with the other 3 kids for whom I am responsible. External voice, "Dear God, I know I don't deserve any favors, but please, please, please, please, please, protect my sweet boy"...

Then kids were yelling "They found him!" and I was running. The police officer I met initially was carrying an incredibly happy Wesley, whom a good Samaritan helping search had found on a nearby baseball field playing in the sand. Wesley said to the police officer, "There she is! Mommy!" then to me, "Mom, I'm so, so dirty! Hey, did you hear the firetrucks?" I laughed. Those weren't firetrucks, buddy...they were police looking for you...

So, I guess I'll wait

Sometimes when I sit to write, the words just pour out of me. The ordinary event turns itself into a story. The details manifest themselves, and the plot and humor unfold. But not today.

My brain is full of the ordinary tasks of the weekend: the laundry, the dishes, the sweeping. It is not to say that I didn't enjoy myself. I took the kids to the water park. I enjoyed a gathering with friends. I watched a movie (readers with small children who don't go to bed appriciate this as a great feat). But I have no stories. So, I'll wait for one to come. I'm enjoying myself too much to go looking for one.

Smutty Summer Reading

Ok, I admit it. I am reading Fifty Shades of Grey. I have also covered the book in funky black and white covered contact paper, because I would DIE if I were seen in public with it. If I read parts of it outloud to my husband, HE would die. I don't like the main character...she's too....perfect. She's PERFECT. Anastasia Steele, no one is "too lanky." That's code for tall and thin. Seriously. If you want to create a character I can relate to, make her short and pudgy. Don't give her problems remembering to eat. Make her constantly struggling with at LEAST ten pounds (ok, ten pounds she'll admit to, ten more she won't).

So, why then, you may ask, am I reading it? In a nutshell, it's because I don't want to be left out! People everywhere are commenting on this book. It's a pop-cultural phenomenon. If I want to make sense of the non-sense, I have to read it, right? RIGHT?

Our Little Guy

I just wanted to take a post to brag on our little W. Last year at this time, we were working with Early Steps because his vocabulary was right around four words. He had chronic ear infections when he was tiny. When, at nine months, he had pretty much had an ear infection for 12 weeks straight, we made the decision to insert tubes in his ears. It made all the difference in the world, but we were warned that he missed out on a lot of hearing in those weeks.

After three months of intervention services in speech and occupational therapy (they had him lick food, move food around in his mouth, and make faces in a mirror), his speech exploded to more than 50 words. This school year, we were able to work with a fantastic preschool who really helped him work on his pronunciation and vocabulary. Now, at almost 3, I feel like his vocabulary is spot-on, but he might need some additional speech therapy. He is just a charming and handsome little guy. His new catch phrase is, "Hi mom, Guess what?" And he loves to wear his batman shirt with the cape. I call him Batman, and he calls me Princess. He loves to sing "Old McDonald" but his favorite animal is an elephant. He does a pretty good imitation.