Adventures in Parenting

Before I had kids I had visions of what parenting would be like. I pretty much planned on dirty diapers, getting up in the night with sick kids, potty training, reading stories, music lessons, sports activities, and parent-teacher conferences. I was well aware that children don't always just go along with what Mom or Dad say, because, well, I WAS a kid once myself.

But there are always the things you don't plan on.

Things like trying to convince your six-year-old that jeans with a hole in the knee are still warmer this time of year than a pair of shorts. I couldn't believe I was going the rounds the other day with L. about this. He wanted to go over to a friend's house, and since it is in the 30's here, I insisted that he change out of his shorts, put on long pants and shoes and socks. I can't believe that kids think shoes and socks are optional this time of year. Incredibly, however, L. was insisting that he would be colder wearing his jeans that have a gaping (as opposed to a slight tear) hole over one knee than he would be wearing his favorite shorts. Sigh. Although he eventually gave in (something about having to choose between going outside in what he wanted or having to stay inside), he scrunched up his face in the grumbliest grimace he could muster to let me know he was obeying under great duress. And the friend wasn't home anyway.

And then there are adventures like last night.

O. was vacuuming the basement last night, as per his after-school job. After five or six minutes of blissful vacuuming noise I heard him holler for me. Naturally, I didn't respond right away because who does he think I am? His dog he can call for? After several more loud repetitions of my name I decided to finally see what he wanted. It seems that he was vacuuming up gerbil fluffies (the shreds of cardboard the gerbil has chewed from various toilet paper rolls and cardboard we give him) off the floor with the hose attachment. All at the same moment he realized the gerbil cage door was ajar, said gerbil Mr. Darcy (who we originally thought was a Miss Bennett, but then matured to where we realized our mistake) was on the floor, and said gerbil was sucked up the hose. AAAHHHhhh. When I got down there, surrounded by everyone else, we could see Mr. Darcy plugged up in the hard plastic part of the tube. He hadn't gotten into the ribbed hose part yet. I could also feel exactly where he was in the tube because there was a distinct warm section there. Sigh. What to do? I tapped the tube on the floor, hoping to dislodge him. No luck. I tried wiggling it hard. Mr. Darcy seemed stuck fast, like Winnie-the-Pooh when he ate too much honey at Rabbit's house. I knew we didn't have days to wait and get the little guy out. And I could see he was still breathing at least. I finally had to pry the ribbed hose part off the tube (which he tried to climb up when he realized he was about to be exposed), and all at once he was on the floor. I snatched him up, gave him a few strokes for comfort (his and mine) and we returned him to his home.

Phew.