Sunday, November 26, 2006
Adventures in Babysitting. . .err. .. Parenting
As some of you already know, one of my greatest pet peeves in life is when a married couple refers to the husband as "babysitting" the kids when they are alone with them, as if watching the children is just a momentary chore and not something they should be held accountable for. They're parents, it's called parenting! And before I get flamed for being sexist, I would still feel the same if the reverse were true (although not once in my parenting years have I come across anyone who refers to a mom as "babysitting," even if she is the primary breadwinner and the hubby stays home with the tots). Thud! (Okay, yes, that's just me, jumping off my soapbox).
So while I was out having an adventure in shopping, Cliff was home having an adventure in parenting all of his own. When a women comes home and the first words out of her husband's mouth are, "I didn't want to call you and tell you this while you were gone cause I didn't want to ruin you're shopping trip, BUT. . ." You know that something good is NOT going to follow.
Poor Cliff! Apparently, he had all the kids in the rec room, and Paloma managed to get her hands on one of the many markers that reside in that room. Typically, no big deal. Well, this one had the cap off. And within a matter of a minute, Paloma's face, hands and mouth were a shocking shade of blue. And then she started vomiting.
Cliff hauled keister upstairs in a big hurry and called Poison Control. The good news is that the marker was nontoxic and wouldn't cause any harm. The bad news is that it's nasty stuff which disagrees with little tummies and causes a lot of throw-up. The folks at PC were very nice and even called back 20 minutes later to make sure that everything was under control.
I'm very proud of my husband for keeping a cool head and making the right decision on who to call. I felt badly about how worried he was about my reaction, but as a mother, I more than anyone know how quickly kids can get into things. Like on Wednesday when Paloma managed to crawl from the couch onto the end table, where she then stood and danced on her precarious perch, all while I was vacuuming under the rug. . .in the same room! Or the time Atticus crawled up the toilet and took a belly flop off the toilet tank--at 12 months--in a flash---while I was drying my hair not more than 2 feet away. Accidents happen to the best of parents. What matters is how we react.
So Cliff is leaving this evening for "Up Nort'", needing to start his morning at a doctor's office in the far reaches of the U.P. Normally he doesn't like leaving home on the weekened, but this weekend I insisted that he go. After a weekend of solo "parenting" he deserves a bit of R&R, with nary a marker in view.