The Taming of the Screw

Boys are different than girls. I know it seems obvious, but I don't believe you can ever fully appreciate the differences until you've given birth or raised both. It's probably no surprise to anyone, least of all his parents, that Ethan gets into everything. I could leave knives out with the girls and they wouldn't touch them (and before you dial CPS, I'm joking...as if I would really leave knives lying around or as if I would actually admit to it publicly!). Ethan could make Kleenex a dangerous household item, and I'm not exaggerating.

Exhibit A:

No, we aren't teaching our little tyke how to destroy the evidence of financial misconduct (Mark Cuban should take note), and no it didn't occur to either my husband or I that leaving a shredder plugged in and on might not be the best idea with a mischievous toddler running amok...but no harm no foul and lesson learned...or was it? Which brings me to the "screw" incident.

It's a lovely Saturday right after lunch. Jerry is ironing and Emily and I are playing the Wii. Ethan is running back and forth between the living room to gasp with delight and fervor at our every Wii achievement, and try to sneak in a quick touch of the hot iron (alas daddy is on top of this one and thwarts his every attempt) and his movie/playroom where I believe either Shrek, The Grinch or Willy Wonka was playing. Yes, we admit to using the TV as a babysitter....don't judge. Emily and I were trying to figure out how to both answer questions and jump, shake or dance at the same time on the Wii trivia game I rented from blockbuster (don't recommend this one, but it could be user error). When all of a sudden I hear the frantic yelling of my husband, and the sounds of my son choking/coughing while his daddy's fingers were shoved into his mouth. Puzzled yet not alarmed, my husband (and yes I do love him and he does have many wonderful qualities which I could list here but let's be frank, no one cares about the good stuff, it's the annoying traits that are funny to read about and of those he has plenty! :) frequently overreacts, I walk into the other room and calmly ask what is going on (it is important to note here that my interpretation of calm and everyone else's might not be the same). My husband frantically replies "I think YOUR son swallowed a screw, that's what is going on!". (So he is MY son now...I see how it is) To which I reply, "What do you mean he swallowed a screw?" (the question implies I am somewhat simpleminded but I couldn't wrap my head around the idea that my son had not only gotten a hold of a screw but had put it in his mouth and then proceeded to swallow it) It was at this time that the yelling might have escalated, it's difficult to tell as my memory of the event is somewhat blurred by what can only be termed post-traumatic stress disorder. My "concerned" husband begins ripping the house apart trying to make sure all the screws are accounted for (I was thinking in my head that if he didn't even know the screws were there then how could he be sure how many he should find, but I wisely kept my mouth shut at this point). Then during my husbands frantic search for the errant screws, he inadvertently blurts out that this incident wouldn't even be happening if YOU hadn't left our son alone.

***insert a moment of silence here while you process the meaning, implication and result of that devastating sentence***

I don't think it's really necessary at this point to defend myself, but I will say in my defense that Ethan was alone only in the sense that he was downstairs with 3 other people and an open floor plan doing what he has done countless times before and that I don't screw or otherwise engage in laborious household fixer upper projects, so clearly I didn't leave the screws lying around. Not that I'm pointing fingers, because I would never do that...directly. Passive aggression is so much more fun.

So, I did what any mother would have done at this point (right?), I turn around (after calling him some names I'm sure) and head back into the living room where I pull out my laptop and begin googling "my son swallowed a screw" to see what I should do. What? Do you have a better idea?

Naturally, googling only increased my apprehension (now I worried about things like the pointy end of the screw puncturing a lung or perforating a hole in the small intestine!) and it wasn't helping that my husband was loudly (yelling has a negative connotation) making suggestions on who I should call and what we should do. I managed to block most of him out, but occasionally words would penetrate my consciousness. Words like ER and Doctor.

ER and Doctor? That gave me a fantastic idea! I knew just who to call, and she would have the answers to everything and she alone held the power to make me feel better!!!! Yep, mommy. I called my mother. Strangely, her complete calm and soothing tone only served to escalate my hysteria (thru no fault of hers, I think the situation and my husbands reaction were finally starting to sink in). Her advice, "oh, I'm sure he'll poop it out." So then I have visions of not getting a wink of sleep nor letting Ethan out of my sight until he pooped the mighty screw, and all the things that could go wrong on it's way out the backdoor so to speak. I'm pretty sure I was screaming in her ear (now would be a good time to say "Sorry Mom and I love you!).

What was Ethan doing all this time you might be wondering? Playing. Laughing. I kneeled down and gently asked him "Ethan, did you swallow this screw (I held up one of the screws we had found on the floor)?" His answer....well it looked something like this has he shook his head in the affirmative:

Not exactly reassuring, and not that he's the best source, I probably would have gotten the same answer if I had asked him, "Ethan, did you swallow a purple dinosaur?"

To make a long story short, we did end up taking him to the ER. There are several important points to note at this juncture:

1) after several hours and an xray later...no screw was ingested (whew!)
2) my husband humbly and repeatedly apologized for his hasty accusations and hysterical reaction
3) Ethan thought the whole day was a big grand adventure and probably has no idea how much distress, worry and aggravation he caused
4) We were told my several people at the hospital that our son was perhaps the most handsome well-behaved 3 year old they've ever come in contact with, and I can't speak for you, but I think truer words have never been spoken.

The moral of the story: It is much easier to deal with life's ups and downs and the crazy moments involved in raising kids if you can learn to laugh at yourself (laughing at others helps too).