I have had a fear lately about something happening to me when I am alone with the kids, which is quite often. I often wonder if other stay-at-home or work-at-home parents feel the same way.
If I fell or had a stroke or otherwise became unresponsive, it could be hours before anyone knew. Aside from the random Facebook update and Happy-Hour-ish texts I send from time to time, we don’t have much communication with the outside world on the days we stay at home.
Additionally, Monster does not yet have the ability to unlock my cell phone and dial 911. And the baby, well, she’s just a disaster waiting to happen if left unsupervised. I can barely keep her off the stairs/out of the dog food/away from sharp objects when I am alert and functioning at 100 percent.
In an effort to head off any emergency, I have been training my son over the last few weeks. We talk at length about what to do if something happens. I have instructed him that he needs to run to our neighbor’s house and tell her that we are having an emergency.
How is the training going, you ask?
It was going awesome. Every day, we would discuss scenarios and what Monster should do. This weekend, we were ready to show off our newfound knowledge to Daddy.
“Buddy, what do you do if something happens to Mommy?”
“Kick you in the face.” (Lots of giggles.)
“OK, OK, enough being silly. What do you do if Mommy falls down and you can’t wake me up?”
“Then I chop off your head!”
“Come on, dude, be serious. What happens if Mommy gets hurt?”
“Well, you will just die and then I will be here and Liza will cry and I will have to eat my vitamins without you because I’m THREE. LOOK AT THIS DINOSAUR! I have to go potty now.”
I’m a little afraid.
I keep picturing that awful scene from “Steel Magnolias” in which Julia Roberts’ character is passed out on the floor, the baby is screaming and something is boiling on the stove.
I mean, is 30 too young to consider Life Alert? I’m only half-kidding.
While I’m not clumsy, I am not exactly brilliant. Those packages that say “Easy to Open!” always make me feel stupid because I never find them easy to open. And I catch my breath at least once a week because I dodged a bullet, like somehow not falling down the stairs despite seemingly tripping through the entire flight.
Combine my lack of common sense with my occasional clumsiness and it is just a matter of time until my son is kicking me in the face as I lie unconscious on our floor surrounded by decapitated dinosaurs and other victims of a 3-year-old’s imagination.
The kid can usually come through when it counts, though. The other day, he expertly unwrapped one of those heaven-sent chocolate peanut butter eggs for me despite saying over and over that he couldn’t. And I have seen Monster get himself into and out of the most awkward physical positions, like being caught between the couch and the wall with one foot above his head and an arm bent backward.
Those skills translate to helping during life-threatening emergencies, yes?