Just a few hours before things officially clicked over to mother's day, my children, who were supposed to be in bed, could be heard still pitter-pattering around our upstairs.
"Moooommmmmy - can you come here for a second pleaaaaaassssee??" could be heard, repeatedly.
Usually I would ignore such requests, but I was feeling generous, you know, it almost being a holiday and all, so I went to the bottom of the stairs to see what all the commotion was about.
The boys were at the top of the stairs, looking endearingly WT in their Lighting McQueen sleeveless undershirts. I notice that Hayden has a powdery-pink mustache and matching powder pink H's drawn on his arms and legs. Both of them seem to be covered in a surplus of bandaids. Just as I begin to put it all together, they held out a small pink canister of (chewable) Children's Pepto.
"Is this a treat?" Oh no. OH NO. This is not good. The treat inquiry? The pink powder? The semi-guilty looks in their faces?
I don't even want to admit it.
"How many did you eat?" I asked.
Cash held up one solitary finger. Hayden? He held up four (at least they know their numbers).
I quickly surveyed the bathroom and the hallway to make sure nothing else was consumed, and what did I see laying on the bathroom rug?
Scattered among the band-aids, lay an empty Rolaids wrapper. And I'd thought the time they'd cut open the toothpaste bottle was bad. Nope, this was worse. Was it possible to overdose on antacids? Was Hayden going to be stopped up for weeks? Why hadn't I paid more attention to what they were doing after I said my good-nights? Why on earth had I put all the medicine back within their reach?
So it was with great remorse and anxiety that I trudged back down the stairs at my husband's urging to put in a call to poison control. My first one ever, a fact for which I am actively counting my blessings.
Thankfully, we had little to worry about, but were advised to give the boys a little something to munch on and to drink . This means that in the end, my kids got exactly what they wanted, a tasty light night sack. Though I'm not quite sure they planned the side of lecture that they ended up getting along with it.
Yes, nothing spells Happy Mother's Day quite like the perfect cocktail of guilt and panic garnished with worry and topped off with a splash of regret. Mmm, motherhood. Yummy.