The Boy kicked the weekend off Friday by busting his lip wide open on our coffee table in the 30 minutes between arriving home and my leaving to go see a friend's art show. I was rushing around, trying to change clothes, make mac-and-cheese for the boys, give the babysitter directions to our house and supervise the usual after-school/work routine when I heard BANG!, "OWWWWW!"
I found The Boy with blood spraying out of his mouth. I'm still not exactly sure what happened, but he shredded his top lip with an incisor. Here's what nearly four years of parenting has taught me: Mouth wounds bleed a great deal, but rarely are that bad. Four years ago, I would have canceled my plans and rushed him to the ER to pay $1000 to have a doctor tell me there was nothing to do with his lip but let it heal. Friday, I wrapped a towel around an ice pack and told him not to swallow the blood, then left him with a babysitter.
And I didn't feel guilty at all. (It helped that he's been asking for a babysitter for the last month. There's another parenting lesson for you: Make babysitter nights special -- our boys get to watch a movie and stay up late -- so the kids WANT you to leave them alone.)
So, that was Friday.
We waited in line FOREVER in 90 percent humidity and 90-degree heat so that The Boy could get his face painted by a middle-aged woman in a pink wig. Of course, The Lad had to have what his brother did, though in his case, the paint stayed on all of five minutes. We left after face painting and The Lad was whooped, so I carried him to the car. He laid his head on my chest --- and the shark smeared all over my cleavage. Attractive.
The Boy managed to keep his shark, his first-ever face painting, on through nap. It attracted the attention of every old person in the grocery store. They also might have noticed us because The Lad was singing in the cart at the top of his lungs.
When we got home, the boys ran inside to play while I carried in the groceries. My house is small; I turned my back long enough to take the seven steps from the kitchen to the garage to get the last bag of groceries and this happened:
To be clear: Both the lid and the seat were down.
So, in the 30 seconds my back was turned he lifted both and managed to fall in fully-clothed.
He was shouting, "PEE!"
Wanting to encourage my little Beastie's obsession with the bathroom, I tried to let him stand on the stool and pee, once I stripped off the toilet-drenched clothes. But I was afraid he'd slip in the toilet water drips, so I dumped him into the tub. (They needed a bath anyway.) He stood up and peed in the tub, proudly pointing and declaring, "PEE!"
The Boy, whom I had told to strip off because they were getting a bath, took one look at the situation, looked at me and said, "You need to rinse that out before I get in."
We ended the evening with pizza and Tangled, which is a very good movie -- especially for Disney. I might have had a beer -- or three.
So far today, we've had Target and legos, silly bands, sidewalk chalk, balls and lunch. The Boy is currently boycotting nap, though I'm insisting on quiet time in his room. Football and cartoons are on tap for this afternoon.
I miss the husband.