This week brought about the demise of my last excuse for thinking that I have ever had, or ever will have a rough or stressful life. That’s right ladies and gentlemen, never again will I be able to say that I’ve had a bad day, nor will most of you. This all goes back to a certain set of instructions that Leslie got from the pediatrician this week; but first I need to give you a little back story.
A couple of weeks ago both Jack and Ayla came down with a pretty rough stomach bug. We did not identify it as such immediately due to the fact that it is not uncommon for children who are teething to have liquid expulsions from their posterior. Trust me, I’m a rocket scientist, I know all about hot gases being expelled through a constricted nozzle. However, once the vomiting kicked in we decided it was time for a visit to the pediatrician. The results came back as a stomach bug. We were to restrict the kids’ intake of dairy as that was what was triggering the vomiting and focus on foods that promote, aherm… blockage. Things were supposed to settle down after about ten days and a few days after that they would be allowed to resume consuming dairy products. Jack was farther along than Ayla so we expected him to come out of it earlier.
Ten days came and went and both kids were still battling the squirts so Leslie called the doctor and was instructed to come in for another visit. During this visit Leslie was told she would need to collect samples for fecal analysis, three from each child to be precise; and each sample could be stored no more than 24 hours prior to being delivered to the hospital for said analysis. You heard me correctly; Leslie had to collect a total of six poop samples. Unfortunately, until delivered to the hospital the samples have to be refrigerated; that means I’ve got fecal matter stored between the milk and the cottage cheese… the similarities are striking. Never again will I have any right to complain about my day.
Of course all of this was the setting for another event which happened this week. Wednesday night I went to see a movie with a friend after the kids went to bed. The following morning Leslie called me at work with a story. The previous evening, after I had left for the movie, Leslie went back to our bedroom only to discover a brown substance slightly poop-like in nature swirled on the floor. Upon closer inspection she discovered it was caramel. She followed traces of caramel around the bed and over to my nightstand. There in front of the nightstand was a large glob of caramel. Upon opening the top drawer of my nightstand she discovered little bits of foil strewn about, all that remained of a couple of Cadbury eggs I had stored there. The next morning after Jack and Nicolas climbed into bed with her she asked them, “Did one of you guys eat daddy’s Cadbury eggs?” With a big smile on his face Jack replied, “I ate chocolate, all of it.” What is truly mystifying about this story is not that Jack disappeared for a long enough period of time to discover my hidden treasure trove, to unwrap and then consume said treasure trove, but that when he came back into the living room there was no evidence of his caper smeared over his hands and face.
I continue to be amazed at how smart Jack is, he walks an incredibly fine line but he does so with remarkable skill. Earlier this evening, after I had put Jack to bed, I heard a commotion in his room. When I went to investigate I discovered that he had locked his door. After I unlocked his door I went him to find him playing with his cars in the dark. I took away the cars and put him back in bed, where I told him that if he did something like that again, getting out of bed, locking the door, and played with his cars again I would discipline him. About an hour later Leslie and I were lying in bed when we, once again, heard a commotion in the other room. This time Leslie got up to investigate. She walked down the hallway and discovered Jack’s door wide open, turning slightly she spied him in the bathroom where he had emptied all of the decorative soaps out of the drawer and lined them up along the sink, bridging each soap was a tongue depressor. The toilet brush was in the toilet and Jack was halfway between the toilet and the sink using his hand to gallop along an imaginary path. Leslie walked into the bathroom, placed her hands on her hips, and just stared at him. He turned and stared back, then in all seriousness said, “I want to play, mommy.” How could I discipline him for something like that? He hadn’t actually done anything I told him not to. Sure he was playing, but it wasn’t with his toys. The kid doesn’t even have the vocabulary to voice his reasoning yet his brain processed exactly what I said and discovered a loophole wide enough to drive a car through. If he manages to survive his teen years this kid is going places.