Rough week

This has been a rough week in the Bookiehead house. It started off nicely, with a weekend that included signing up for little league and a big boy bed for Oldest. We were going to use the headboard that the old crib converts to, but it didn't fit. Minor drama ensued, until I convinced Hubby that we can live without a headboard for a bit, and no he doesn't need to spend any more money right now.

Then Monday, the depressing phone call from school.

Tuesday night I went to tuck Oldest into his new huge bed, which makes him look very small, and noticed that his right eye is a bit puffy and has a small cut on the corner, with a fresh smear of blood. Hmmmm. The cat? I look down at the bottom of the bed, where the black and white cat is half asleep. I stare at him, challengingly. He looks back with an "Oh puhlease, like I have time for that stuff" look. This is true. Besides that Oldest is very dramatic - if a cat scratched him in the eye, he'd be screaming his head off.

The next morning when I asked what happened to his eye, he says promptly "Surprise hit me with the Little People Christmas tree!" So much for brotherly loyalty. Make note to self: put Little People Christmas tree away on high shelf.

That night, after they're supposed to be in bed: the usual pounding of feet in the hallway. The occasional scream, which we ignore. At some point, I call from the bottom of the steps to get in bed!! Now!!

"I'm twying to clean up the blood!" answers Surprise.

We head upstairs in a hurry. Little smears of blood on the wall. Surprise has a gash in his forehead. Damn! I forgot to move the Christmas tree to a high shelf! But we figure out shortly that it was, in fact, the doorjamb that got him when they were running around where they weren't supposed to be. Hubby takes him to the hospital, where he gets 6 teeny blue stitches. He calls to tell how good he was, how he didn't cry once and everyone in the hospital came in to get a look at the good, brave boy.

While they're out, I talk to Oldest. "When stuff like this happens, you have to come get us, okay? Why didn't you tell us sooner?"

Oldest spreads out his arms, eyes wide. "I thought it was too much!" he says. "It was too much, and you would just DIE!"

Thursday. I open a new bottle of gummy Flintstones vitamins at breakfast and give each boy his two. (They are really yummy, by the way. The kids love them, and there's no struggle to get them to take them. What a great idea!) Cleaning up before we go to pick up Oldest at school, I pick up the old bottle from the counter to throw in the trash. There are about 7 left, which is odd; I thought there were only two.

Ohhhhh noooooo. A feeling of dread creeps in. Check the bottle in the cabinet, and it is, indeed, the old empty bottle.

Surprise is coloring happily at the coffee table. I try to keep my voice pleasant. "Hey there Surprise! What happened to the vitamins?"

"Huh?"

"The gummy Flintstones. The bottle was full. Now it's empty..."

"Uhh. I don know."

"SURPRISE!!" Forget the pleasant voice. Edging toward panic. "DID YOU EAT A WHOLE BOTTLE OF GUMMY VITAMINS?!!!"

"Yeah."

"No, no. You could not possibly have eaten a whole bottle of gummy vitamins!"

"OK. I dinnit."

"Phew. OK, where are they?" I imagine a pile of sticky, sickly sweet Dinos and Wilmas melting into a sludge under the sofa.

"I dunno."

Okay. He ate the vitamins. Don't panic. We have to get the other kid from school first. I call Hubby enroute.

"Listen. I think S. ate a bottle of gummy Flinstones. I don't know! I had them out at breakfast. I thought it was the empty bottle. Yeah. Yeah. I WAS watching them! I know. OK! Just call poison control!"

He calls back. Poison control won't give him any info without the bottle in front of him. We're still waiting in the pickup line at the school.

"I gonna thwow up," groans Surprise in the back seat.

Wonderful!

I scream like a shrew at Oldest (who is, as usual, running around the grass instead of standing still in line) to GET IN THE CAR NOW. Making the car aide, who is also the reading specialist, look at me like I'm the meanest mom on earth. Probably casting doubts in her mind on the Little People Christmas tree story. And no wonder he has problems with his words, with a nasty mother like that.

Get home, call Dan at Poison Control. We have developed a nice relationship over the years. It started when Oldest ate part of a plant during Christmas dinner in 2003 and included the time when Pop-pop wasn't sure if he'd left his Coumadin out while we were at their house and a couple of other vitamin incidents.

Dan asks about Surprise's age and weight, the vitamins' iron and Vitamin A content and goes off to do research. "Good news!" he says when he comes back. "It would take 156 of those vitamins to do any damage. He might get nauseous though."

Yep, he is that. He's turning green and clutching a bucket. This may be an act to keep from getting punished, but it's pretty convincing. He does seem to get over it quickly, once the Friday night dose of Spongebob comes on.

Weekend projects:
1. Move Little People Christmas tree to high shelf.
2. Talk to Hubby about putting padding over all doorjambs
3. Switch back to the regular, yucky chewable Flintstones vitamins