Memorial Madness

If a kid asks where rain comes from, I think a cute thing to tell her is
“God’s crying”
And if she asks you why God is crying, another cute thing to tell her is,
“probably because of something you did”

(just kidding...I'm not that mean...most of the time)

I had one of those experiences over the holiday weekend that every parent fears… a moment you never forget, even if you want to. I assumes it deserves documenting, if only to remind me how quickly things can happen, and never to judge those seemingly ‘neglectful’ parents who’s children I feel sorry for.

We celebrated Memorial Day with the Smith’s this year.
Mr. Smith’s family has much more of a traditional Memorial Day than I ever had. It may have something to do with that fact that I’ve never really had anyone’s grave to visit, my Dad always being so far away, and just recently losing my first grandparent (who is buried 5 hours away).
I have always found it so strange that all of Mr. Smith’s family lives within the same County. Not Mr. Smith’s brother and sister’s… but ALL of the Smith’s. Grandparents, aunts, uncles, great-aunt’s, great-uncles, cousins, second cousins, etc. And the family member who moved out of the county (blame the person they married for that!) flys in for the summer, and calls on the telephone during family dinners. It’s different to me… but anyways…
We have narrowed the holiday celebrating down to Mr. Smith’s immediate family members. Which is always a good time, and the kids have cousins, so I was looking forward to it. So, after dinner, the kids are playing. The adults had just started playing games, and I was settling into that ‘happy place’. That place of a full-stomach, kids-are-occupied, adult-conversation, everyone’s-comfortable, no-time-constraint, happy place.
I can say that those are my favorite times, wherever, and whenever they happen… I think they are good for my sanity. So, as luck would have it, next thing I know… Sassy pants is standing next to me, with strange blue things around her mouth. The next thing I remember, we are driving to the ER.
Sassy Pants ate D-Con (rat poison)
The sort of thing you can expect from a toddler… but COME ON! It’s as if she came to me as my ‘child of trial.’ I love the girl dearly, but I can contribute almost any stress I have to her. I think God gave her a detailed list of things I needed to learn. A list of all my weaknesses and short-comings, the location of all my buttons and how to effectively push each and every one of them. She is the caboose, and I guess I have to get all my tests of love and patience.
Back to the poison…
I am completely, 100% unfamiliar with mice and/or traps. As a kid… I vaguely remember some peanut butter on one of those metal snap things. For all I knew, my child would either die before we got her medical attention, or she would have some disabling side-affects, and we’d just be glad she was alive!
As we drove through the rain, after dark, when we remembered how to get to the hospital…the one we’ve been to a million times…it seemed she would be okay.
I’m not sure if it was worse to be the driver or the one sitting in the back. Poor Mr. Smith was just as scared as I was, and I seemed to forget that he had ever driven before. I would tell him to “hurry, hurry…pass him!” Then when he would speed up, I yelled “Slow down! It’s raining! Be careful!” then ten seconds later I was back to “faster, pass him…we have to hurry!” Luckily, he loves me, and knew that my barking came from of a place of extreme love and fear…and it wasn’t directed at him. He used his mad skills and got us to the hospital in record time.
There’s not a finer moment, as a Mother, than entering the ER waiting room with your child in one hand and a box of rat poison in the other. The looks from a couple of the other women in the room seemed to shoot flaming arrows for all to see. The nod of their heads felt like I might as well had fed her the stuff myself. I wanted to throw up my stomach felt so sick. They got us right in, and the nurse took the box to the Doctor. She asked if I had called Poison Control. Ummmm…no….even though that’s what it says in big bold letters on the box.
A couple minutes (which felt like two years) later, she came back to tell us that while they definitely needed to treat her, she would be alright… she wouldn’t die in my arms. The nurse must have read my face like a book. I’m not good at hiding anything, so at this point she was treating me before treating the actual patient.
Well, needless-to-say, I got an education that night. D-Con is simply Coumadin…a blood thinner. After traumatic blood sucking needles, and drinking charcoal… I think Sassy Pants learned a lesson too! I think that experiencing the crazy black poop and those horrific black ‘skid marks’ sealed the deal. I dare say that she’ll never eat anything unfamiliar again. At least I hope.