Old News...

I wrote the following in March 2012, got around to posting it in October 2013... 

On Sons

Or more specifically, my son. It feels a little like "all Ian, all the time" around the blog these days. He's verbal, he's funny, and he has such an energy that he's hard to ignore. Which brings me to a recent Saturday

We were at Chris' parents house, toward the end of the day. As it was already past 5, we decided to feed the kids before we left. As we cleaned up, the kids scattered for a few more moments of play. Normal stuff, until grandma Sally walked in holding three small (and empty) syringes.

"Ian was on the bed with these and said 'I'm sorry' when I found him." she said she thought that one of these had been filled before. With his grandfather's liquid morphine.

Frantic running. I went to the bed. I felt the blanket and finally took a breath when I found it wet.  Chris located Ian. I scooped him up and in my most calm happy voice asked if he'd emptied the syringe. He happily said he had.

"did you get it on the blanket?"

"yah."

"did you taste any?"

"no"

Okay, good.

Crisis averted, we calmed enough to remember that liquid morphine tastes bitter. Even if he'd tasted it he would be unlikely to want a whole dose. And the dose to which he had access is small to begin with.

Still. This is the kid who tried to climb a shelf last year, biting clean through a third of his tongue. The only one of the three who has been in the ER. The one who thinks a flying leap off the couch is an appropriate hello.

I'm not grey yet, but I think now may be the time to buy stock in Clairol.

Stuff Ian* said a month ago that I wrote down so I wouldn't forget and them promptly forgot

Does this have silver raisins?

You know, snow comes from the sky. Roovers are near the sky. When it snows it lands on the roof.

I can't even really 'magine it's snowing! How can it be snowing again?

(and, in the context of cell phones ringing in people's pockets...): I want to hear the call of Ellen's butt.


*To me these all sound like Ian sayings, but since I didn't write that down I will never be sure.

Unclear on the Concept

Mmm, cake.

Moments after we all walked into the house, Ian was on the couch, yelling:  "Strawberry mrrmmmrrm! I want strawberry mrrmmmrrm"

"What?" I asked, "what do you want?"

"I want strawberry mrrmmmrrm" repeated Ian.

"Is that something you can eat?"

"Strawberry mrrmmmrrm"

"Is it something you read? Something you watch? What is strawberry mrrmmmrrm?"

louder, more emphatically: "Strawberry mrrmmmrrm! Strawberry mrrmmmrrm! Strawberry mrrmmmrrm!"

"Is it something on television?"

"YES. Strawberry mrrmmmrrm!"

"Strawberry Shortcake?"

"Yes, I want Strawberry Shortcake!"

"Oh. We aren't watching television right now."

"I WANT STRAWBERRY TELEVISION CAKE!"

 

Does he look like a kid who doesn't get enough cake?

Calm Before the Storm

On Sunday afternoon I was changing Mira's diaper. I saw Ian walk into the kitchen, and then it was quiet. Too quiet for my taste. As I finished up with Mira, Ian came in. I saw this:

Intrigued, I walked into the kitchen and saw this:

Needless to say, we are still getting the hang of keeping everything away from the edges of the counters. What I can't figure out is why Ian didn't immediately eat all the blueberries he spilled.