Fail

Today was a day for the record books here at Casa Critical Mass.  We covered the whole range from tragic to ridiculous.  None of it handled with any sort of grace.  I'm glad this day is over and the kids are in bed.  I see a bowl of ice cream in my future.

We started out with the tragedy.  A boy at Z's school died in a boating accident over the weekend.  Not in her class, but some one she knew.  The school sent home a letter letting the parents know what was going on and giving us the opportunity to talk about it at home before they discussed it at school.  I stumbled around the lead in and finally dropped the bad news like a bomb.  Fail.  We have talked about before, so she appeared to take the news that his spirit was up in heaven pretty well. 

She was quiet for a minute or two then somehow the discussion got all mixed up with the dead bird we saw at the park yesterday.  "Why don't the spirits of the birds go to heaven?"  That led to an uncomfortable (for me) discussion of caskets and cemeteries and how birds don't have anyone to bury them when they die.  Oh, the perils of a smart child!

Fast forward to after school.  Hubs helpfully left a giant irresistible accident waiting to happen wash tub of ashes from the fireplace on the back porch.  The kids had gotten into it, and he promised to move it... but he didn't.  Q came in covered from head to toe in ashes.  He had them in his hair, caught in his eyelashes, ground into the knees of his pants, and stuck in a grotesque mask to his runny nose.  Blech! 

Into the bath with him!  When we got in the bathroom, I noticed (again) that Z had pulled her brush apart.  I got my Gorilla Super Glue (an awesome product, by the way.  It holds my house together.  I totally recommend it.) and glued it back together.  When I was done, I put the cap back on and set it on the counter while I bathed Q.

As I was finished rinsing off Q, I got a brainstorm to give Holly a bath in Q's leftover bath water.  She has been digging holes  in the yard and was filthy.  The last time I attempted it, I think I got wetter than she did!  But this time, I had a brainstorm to use a leash to loop around the support bar and keep her in the tub.  Genius!  I ran to the utility room to grab a leash and was running back when I met Q, buck naked, coming the opposite direction. 

"I bring your glues, Mama!" he said as he hands the super glue to me.  When I take it, I see that he has unscrewed the cap.  And is sticky.  And he is naked.  And what does my son like to hold on to when he is naked?  That's right: his parts.  Ack!  Danger, Will Robinson!  With visions of the most embarrassing trip to the ER ever dancing in my head, I may or may not have shrieked like a howler monkey, "Hands up!  Hands Up!!  HANDS UP!!!"  as I watched his hands drifting down to perform a routine check. 

I think I totally traumatized him.  As I rushed him back into the tub, his eyes were round as saucers and not a little bit hurt and confused.  He had not made the connection that the glue on his hand would have stuck to his junk.  Luckily, all's well that ends well.  I managed not to let him super glue himself to anything.  Whew!

Now we skip ahead to dinner time.  I was bustling around the kitchen with two kids and four dogs under my feet, so I banished everyone to the living room.  Not wanting me to think they had been replaced by pod people, my children only retreated as far as the dining room.  They were playing some strange combo game of school and doctor's office.  Unfortunately, they set up shop right next to the microwave and I didn't want to slop boiling water on them, so I goose stepped them into the living room.

A little later, I rounded the corner into the living room to find their game had shifted wholly to doctor.  As in doctor.  Gynecology style.  Z had her legs in the air and Q was using a toy syringe to give her a shot.  Inside her panties.  Just. Kill. Me.  We're going to have to move away and become hillbillies!  Head spinning around, I sent them to their rooms.  All that was missing was the pea soup for a complete horror flick.

After I recovered from my little stroke, I realized that I needed to make sure this was all innocent curiosity and not a sign of something more sinister.  I calmly asked questions and Z assured me that no one besides a doctor had ever touched those places before.  Well, at least there is that.  I called T and told him I needed reinforcements.  Pronto!

After he got home, we sat down to dinner.  We broached the topic of the doctor incident and T took over to put in his two cents.  He has a more Q&A parenting style.  He says his piece, then asks questions.  He looked at Q and asked, "So why don't you touch your sister's bits?"  His earnest reply?  "Because they are icky!"

And then I died.  The end.