Spoonful of Sugar Not Required...

These are the things you need to know ahead of time:

--We are moving to the DC-area this summer (unless it's Alabama instead, but at this point it's DC), so we are in the process of de-cluttering and trying to make/keep our house looking nice in anticipation of people coming to look at it. Hopefully someone will like it enough to buy it.

--Some folks we know are actually thinking about buying a house, so they made plans to come look at our house after church today, to see if it might be a possibility for them.

--I'm relationally-oriented. Given the demands of managing the household, I can generally accomplish 1-2 tasky-type tasks in a given day.

--The Cat Daddy is task-oriented. Given 1-2 hours and assuming things go smoothly, the Cat Daddy will manage 5-6 tasky-tasks, along with dressing and grooming the children, including styling their hair with product. If things get in any way "sporty," the Cat Daddy will still accomplish all of the above, but will get a little intense.

So, this morning I had to be to church early for music practice. Things were going along swimmingly and we were getting close to the end of practice, when I saw the sound/tech guy flagging down the leader (or so I thought) from the tech area.

"Hey Leader, Sound/Tech Guy is flagging you down."

But the the sound/tech guy gesticulated that no, he was addressing me.

"Skerrib, I am talking to you. I got a text from the Cat Daddy saying to call him ASAP."

To which I replied, "OK I'll call him." Because for the Cat Daddy to text other people in search of me has the potential for urgency. Not certain urgency, mind you, but definitely the potential. I grabbed my phone (which I'd left in my bag) and dialed, and found a very worked up Cat Daddy on the other end. I learned the following, in rapid-fire fashion and in this order:

--The Cat Daddy needed to find the carpet cleaner because...
--The Littler One drank an undetermined amount of Children's Tylenol-Equivalent and spilled the rest on the carpet, and oh-by-the-way how much was in the bottle to begin with because...
--Poison Control told him that the danger point for this particular medicine is 2.5 oz. Also...
--The boyz were in bigger trouble than usual and the Cat Daddy was angrier than usual, and if I could come home in between practice and church to help clean up for our guests that would be fabulous.

So I did. I walked in the door expecting to find bedlam, but instead found a surprisingly peaceful situation. The boys were very sad because they'd had (among other things) their TV privileges taken away, and the first of several severe talking-to's, and were being made to clean up their toys (heaven forbid). The Cat Daddy was still very worked up and very loud, and had made the basement carpet immaculate.

Being relationally-oriented the first thing I did was sit down and asked the boys what on earth had happened. They--all three of them--in turn told me the whole story. His Highness had gotten into the locked pantry in search of a snack, because we don't feed him enough and he was far too hungry to wait for Daddy to help him find something to eat. The Littler One, despite my having vetoed it 2 hours prior, finagled his brother into, at the very least, turning a blind eye while he scaled the shelves and snagged the medicine. He then took said medicine downstairs where Daddy wouldn't hear him, and outsmarted the not-so-childproof cap so he could take a drink. The Cat Daddy went downstairs a short time later to find the scene and it was all downhill from there. Daddy called Poison Control, determined The Littler One was probably OK (but with instructions to call back if he started puking--a bad thing in this situation), and set out to find the carpet cleaner, the not-finding of which led to the frantic calling and texting of me, and there we were (our carpet cleaner is out on loan, so The Cat Daddy had to borrow the full-size cleaner from our fabulous neighbors).

So I verified that yes, I was most definitely in support of the consequences Daddy enforced, to which His Highness started crying afresh, saying, "But he took away my TV! I need my TV!" And The Littler One got teary-eyed, saying "Daddy 'pank my butt." And I was very sympathetic and gave them hugs, and assured them I was glad everyone was OK and that this was serious and dangerous stuff, hence the serious consequences. Then I went upstairs to clean the kitchen before heading back to church (given the magnitude of the ordeal, and the Cat Daddy's desire to keep tidying, they all stayed home).

Everyone at church was curious and concerned, and then relieved to hear that all was well and no one poisoned themselves. They prayed for us and we all thanked God that it turned out to be a funny story instead of something much more serious, because really it could have gone that way pretty easily.

So in the end we:

--Deduced that since the 4 oz medicine bottle was previously maybe half full, and The Littler One drank maybe a couple swigs of it before spilling the rest, then he likely came nowhere near the 2.5 oz danger zone. Plus he stayed chipper and didn't puke, so that's good.

--Were still as grave as possible when telling the boys why they must never ever EVER get into the medicine, or help each other get into the medicine, or even, for now, work the pantry locks to get harmless stuff like granola bars by themselves.

--Got the house tidier than it's been in a week, and basked in it for 5 minutes before the kids started messing it up again.

All in all, a full and abundant day. Although I think the Cat Daddy could use a Valium...