Every parent is familiar with bedtime hijackings, hence the enormous popularity of the book "Go the Fuck to Sleep."
After a long day of work and an even longer evening of parenting, there's nothing I resent more than my Netflix and
chill ice cream on the couch time being hijacked by an ungrateful child who doesn't seem to realize that a cranky mommy is a bad mommy, and a bad mommy is one who is deprived of Netflix and chill ice cream.
Speaking of Netflix, this week Isaac wept inconsolably at the disappearance of Wild Kratts from the streaming service, and also when he got fired for bringing his cat to work in the board game Life, and also when he lost a stuffed whale shark his grandpa bought him at an indoor mini-golf place in Boulder, an activity he claimed to have "underestimated."
The good news is that he is picking up some French, since he referred to a shower hose at the VRBO we stayed in in Boulder as a "je ne sais quoi." The bad news is that he swallowed some Act spearmint green fluoride mouthwash last night. Not enough to call poison control, but enough to severely cut into my Netflix and
chill ice cream time.
"What happens if you swallow mouthwash instead of spitting it out?" Isaac asked me in that "asking for a friend" voice while we were all brushing our teeth. (He's almost six, so my level of supervision of his daily ablutions has diminished considerably since his toddler-hood).
I narrowed my eyes into suspicious slits. "Why do you ask?" Isaac's guilty expression and silence told me all I needed to know.
I scoured the back of the label: IF MORE THAN IS USED FOR RINSING IS ACCIDENTALLY CONSUMED, CALL POISON CONTROL RIGHT AWAY. Thus began a long Q&A about exactly how much mouthwash Isaac had swallowed, and we ultimately concluded he had only consumed the little cup full that the Act bottle lets you fill up with one squeeze. In other words, the precise amount used for rinsing. I decided against calling poison control.
But that didn't stop Paige from jumping on the curiosity bandwagon about exactly what happens IF you swallow too much mouthwash. They pump your stomach. How do they do that? I don't know, they stick a hose down your throat I guess. What kind of hose? I don't know, a clear small one. How do they get it down there? They give you medicine and stick it in your throat. What happens if they can't get it out? They can. And on and on, ad infinitum.
As usual, I just made up all the answers as I went along, but by this time I was getting seriously pissed off. A crisis had just been averted, so why did we need to create a NEW crisis by making bedtime take six times longer than it should? Answer: to keep Mommy from Netflix and
chilling ice creaming.