Potty Training

So my two year old is potty trained.  I know.  I am the best mom in the world!  After only one day my son was completely potty trained!

He's going to hate me for this.

Brahahahahahahahaha!!!  Whew!  That was hilarious.  For a second there I felt like all those annoying moms on Facebook that talk about how wonderful their little baby Johnny is doing in his astronomy class.

Well, the truth is that my two year old is actually potty trained and it happened pretty quick but that had nothing to do with my awesome parenting skills.  In fact, it was quite the opposite.  The reason he's potty trained at all is because that I waited so long to start training him that he just up and did it his damn self!

My son (The main character of this blog) has been the most difficult child.  If you've been reading this blog for at least a couple of weeks you will realize that every other entry is some catastrophe involving my son and the ER.  So let me look back on his short and turbulent little life.

He's only two.  In the two years of his existence he has cried non stop for half of them and then became so clingy that I told people he was from the planet ClingOn with his given name being spandex.  Then finally some where around 22 months became a semi normal, functioning and dare I say happy two year old.  Minus all the times he's tried to kill himself.

Around this 22 month mark, my son starts showing signs of being ready to potty train.  Too bad for him!  I was in no condition to take on that kind of conquest.  We had just brought home our youngest and we were just trying to get thought those early crisis months of bringing home a new baby so we could have some semblance of normalcy.

Besides, he wasn't even two yet!  That's just ridiculous.  Boys are supposed to be harder and my daughter didn't start till she was 2 and a half.  I've got loads of time!  But then it started to get pretty embarrassing.  He would start telling me when he wanted to be changed.  No problem.  He just doesn't like being in a wet diaper.  Doesn't mean anything.  I got time!

Then he would sit on the little play potty with his clothes on and say he had to go.  How cute!  He's pretending.  I've got time.  And then I did something that made me realize that I really got to get my act in gear.

He comes to me and says, "Mommy, I have to pee"  and like the mother of the year I am, I reply with "You've got a diaper on, just go in your pants."

...

Mommy fail.

Ok, Ok!  I can't fight it anymore.  So I got all ready for the dreaded potty training.  I got a jar of M&M's and placed them in the bathroom.  I got reward toys.  And I even got a super cool "Mater" toy for when he poops.  I am ready!  Let's do this thing.

So that night I go out and my mom watches the kids.  I'm not even gone for twenty minutes and my mom calls.

"Is Hawkins potty trained?"
"No, we haven't even started."
"Well, I don't think your going to have to do much work.  He just peed in the potty... by himself."
"What?!  Just like that?"
"I guess.  He's asking for his Cars toy.  Can I open them for him?"
"Uh... yeah... I guess so."

Yes, that's poop.  And His Mater Truck.

I hang up the phone in a daze.  My son is potty trained.  My son is potty trained?  My son is potty Trained!!  It's been 6 weeks and he's only had one accident!  Okay, now I'm just rubbing it in.

Don't get me wrong.  I know the horrors of potty training.  There was a time where I didn't leave the house without my daughters potty.  And we would make frequent stops to pee in the car.  It was kind of a pain, not to mention the smell.  My poor car will never be the same.

The moral of the story is that sometimes those experts are right.  If you just let them wait until they are ready then it's not a chore, because they know and understand and want to do it for themselves.  Or maybe God just took pity on me and figured I'd probably lose my mind all together if I had two kids in diapers.  Either way, I'm elated!

Besides for the amount of crap that kid gave me for first year of his life, I think I deserves to have something come easy for once.

Antenella

Let Me Tell You About My Day

Do you ever feel like everything happens all at once?  Do you ever go through the day just wishing you could get a chance to breath?  Or you look at your calendar trying desperately to find the next moment that you won't have 3 birthday parties, a meeting, a doctors appointment and swim class all on the same day?   I feel like being a stay-at-home-mom (or a parent in general) keeps you in a constant state of crisis mode.  

It's not even the never ending list of responsibilities and deadlines and playdates.  It's the constant chaos that ensues every moment of the day!  I feel like i'm forever jumping from one catastrophe to the other.   For example...

So, it's a Thursday night and the hubby and I have a church meeting to get to.  Not just any church meeting.  It's one of those "fall-in-love-with-your-spouse-all-over-again" kind of meetings.  So it would probably be a good idea if I showed up on time, preferably with my spouse.

I have exactly 1 hour to get the kids bathed, dressed and downstairs with dinner in front of them.  Not to mention that in that one hour I should probably do something that would stop me from looking like the newest installment of the walking dead.

My hubby calls me from the road, "on my way!"  As I'm up to my ears in wet kids.  I don't know if you've ever tried to bath your kids in a rush.  I tend to do this pretty often.  It's usually just a matter of taking the stank off of them before we have to actually be somewhere and look presentable.

For the most part my kids love bathes, that is unless you are rushing them.  Then they will make it the most tedious, frustrating, not to mention painful experience of your entire life.

It's when I finally get all of my precious baby angles washed and rinsed with only a gallon of water at my feet that I start pulling them out youngest to eldest.  As I am cleaning out all the bath toys from the tub some one from behind me yells "POOP!"

And no this was not an explicit outburst.  This was actual poop.  Not from my child that is actually potty training.  Oh no.  It's from the littlest one who seriously has the most foul poops I have ever had the opportunity to smell.  It's like something died inside her, but now it's out... and on my rug...

43 minutes and counting.

Now I've got everyone dressed and I'm rushing everyone downstairs.  I put on Netflix and let them destroy my living room as I make some quick pasta noodles.  When everything is done I seat each of them down at the table and rush upstairs to at least change out of my snot and now poop covered shirt...

16 minutes and counting.

Yes, yes, I'm a terrible mom, I left them at the table while they were eating.  Well, not only is it dangerous because someone could choke it is also one of the dumbest things to do after giving your kids a bath.

Side note:  Kids are like dogs.  Don't ever be offended when someone tries to compare your kids to their dog because you have no idea how accurate that comparison actually is.

You know when you give a dog a bath the very first thing they do is find something disgusting to roll around in?...

Are you starting to see where I'm going with this?

I rush back downstairs not even 4 minutes later (11 minutes and counting) and my youngest.  (the same one with the poop) has smeared herself with pasta.  She has made her self a living canvas and the pasta, her paint brush.  So now I'm throwing her back into water, at the sink this time. ('cause, I ain't hauling her butt back upstairs to the bathtub) I hose her down and dry her off with one of the hand towels hanging from the oven.  I then release her into the play area with nothing but a diaper on.

1 minute...

As I'm hosing off myself and the walls I hear shattered glass from the playroom.  This is where we brilliantly placed our Christmas tree this year.  "Get away from the tree!" I yell.   I figured the twins probably ran into the tree and something fell.  No biggy.  Don't get mad.  They're just kids and things are bound to break.  Besides they haven't been in there for more then 30 seconds how much damage could they possibly do.

*Crash*
My phone buzzes.
*Crash*
My sitter is running late.
*Crash*
Great, I literally have 15 minutes to get to my destination which is 20 minutes away.
*Crash* What the hell are they doing in there?

I walk into the playroom to find my son and my youngest sitting in the middle of the playroom grabbing bulbs off the christmas tree and smashing them on the floor.  Peals of laughter coming from their innocent faces.

The floor is covered in broken glass...
I lose my schmit.  0 minutes left...

I'm yelling, I'm screaming, I'm swearing, I'm making sure my kids aren't bleeding to death from the number of wounds they could have picked up from all the little shards of glass.  (They were fine by the way,  if you don't count the spankings I gave them.)  And as I am threatening to run away to Mexico were I would live out the rest of my days as a dancing girl tied to nothing but the wilds of the night, the door bell rings.

In walks my beautiful, young, christian babysitter.  I'm pretty sure she was pretending to not have heard the ranting that was going on behind my front door.  That's so sweet of her.

I give her the run down of the evening and thank her over and over again and tell her what a life saver she is and rush out the door to the cry of my screaming kids and jump into my husbands waiting car.

When we are out of our community my hubby turns to me and asks me in the most cheery of voices: "So how was your day?"

Hulk smash

Antenella

Politically Correct

There are some things in parenting that just come as second nature.  Things like clothing, feeding, changing.  Not necessarily at first, but with the day to day being basically the same for months at a time, your brain starts to just go on auto pilot.  As they get older even the questions are basically the same.  "Mommy, I want a cookie", "Mommy I want to watch tv", "Mommy I want to take my clothes off", with the answers being pretty redundant.  "No."  But then, every once in a while your kids will ask you something that throws you for a loop.

They seem so innocent...

Picture this scenario.  My oldest is 4 going on 12 and she tends to have a little bit of sass when she is trying to communicate with me.  She thinks she's funny.  (Which, she is.  But it still doesn't warrant the way she thinks she can talk to me.  We are working on it.)  So today we are in the car on the way to her speech class and she is complaining that she doesn't want to go.  I try to entice her with all the wonderful things she will get to do in school.

"Don't you want to play with your friends at school?  Like Jaci and Bea?"
A simple statement.  Well, she replys with:
"Aha!  You don't know my black friends name!"  As she chuckles to herself.

How do I explain that she can't say that?  So I reply with:
"You can't call her your black friend."
"Why?"
"Because her color shouldn't matter.  She should just be your friend."

Which she replys with:
"But she's black!"  Adding an eye roll to indicate just how ignorant I really am.

It made me start to really question why this wasn't an appropriate way to name somebody.  How do you explain political correctness to a 4 year old?  I mean, when she put it that way, my argument really did seem ridiculous. "Because you just can't" doesn't seem like a realistic reason to a four year old.

Then it got me thinking. This is the only black kid in her class.  Why can't we describe her that way?  It would make the selection a lot quicker.  I mean even "Guess Who" asks if they're black or white!  You're not going to ask if your person has glasses without asking what color they are first.  That's just the first way to lose!

Which lead me to thinking.  Don't black people describe their white friends as so?  Uh, yeah.  They do.  Because I have been introduced as the "White friend" before.  Was I offended?  No.  I mean, I kinda stood out.  More like glowed, I guess.

So why is this even an issue?  What should I really be teaching my kids?  If color really isn't an issue does that mean we ignore it completely or does that mean we just take it for granted?  What's the first word you would use to describe grass?  Green.  Does it make it any less grass?  Does tolerance really mean to be color blind?  I personally think we lose a lot if we just pretend it's not there.

How many black women who love their hair and their color?  Should I ignore the very thing they are most proud of?  I feel like that would be even more offensive.  To pretend it doesn't exist.  And what am I supposed to tell my own daughters?  Not just my white one.  What is the best way to explain the correct way to express differences?  Ignore them?  Or celebrate them?

No matter what we do we are going to look different, and that's what makes us God's gift to each other.    The world would be lifeless if we didn't have so many different colors, faces and bodies.  How boring to look like each other.  That's the very reason we hated uniforms growing up.  We didn't want to look the same!  So why should we now?

You know what?  I'm going to celebrate it!

"You know what love?  You are right!  She is black.  So tell me, what is her name again?"
"I don't know.  She's just my friend."

That's right.

Antenella

Christmas Cheer!

Ah, Christmas.  It is both the most magical and most frustrating time to have one toddler, let alone three.  I just wonder if my mother ever went through the nights of blissful sleep just to be jolted awake by the date on the calendar popping into her dreams.  Seriously folks!  I have like three maybe three and a half weeks before the jolly red giant graces us with his presents.  By the way... Spoiler alert!  That's me!

I hear ya, lady! 

Holy Crap.  Christmas is here!  I'm having a hard time being jolly and remembering the reason for the season when I look at my calendar and wonder when I'm going to get the time to pull my christmas bulbs from my attic so that my tree downstairs in the living room has more then just a string of lights on it come Christmas morning.

It's not supposed to be like this.  It's supposed to be fun. Christmas is supposed to be magic!  It's the one day a year where you can actually believe in miracles.  Because for the first time ever it is actually surrounded by a real miracle.  Even if you don't yet know of the glory of God there was a moment in time that you believed in Santa.  No matter what happened during the year, Christmas morning restored your faith.  Your faith in people, your faith in love and yes, even at 12 years old, your faith in magic.

So where's the magic?!  I have nothing but amazing memories surrounding the Christmas holidays.  There was never ending parties, and get togethers.  I remember coming home to Christmas cookies and doing Christmas crafts.  I even remember sitting under the Christmas tree watching the lights until I fell asleep.  I am fearful that my kids are missing out since it is increasingly more difficult to keep up these traditions.

It seemed that Christmas 10, 15, or 20 years ago was a different creature.  Toys cost 10$ not 50$ plus shipping.  And parties were friends, family and eggnog.  Not just another inconvenience.  Christmas was never just "one more thing you had to do" before the kids went back to school.  Why is it like this now?  How can it not be?  

I see those "Keep Christ in Christmas" bummer stickers and I think, "Yeah, that is the point right?"  but those fancy shmancy stickers don't tell you how.  They don't tell you how to not get caught up in the hustle and bustle of the season.  They don't tell you how to decompress after spending hours online trying to find a gift for your four year old that's not going to blow your entire budget.  They don't tell you how to schedule your calendar around your friends calendars so that maybe just maybe you can all be in the same place at the same time for a night of merry-making.

It used to be that you just had your holiday party and everyone came.  You just got the cutest toy with the most colors and they loved it.  You just made cookies and "God forbid" brought them to your kids school to share with the class.  I'm only 30 years old and I'm thinking about the good 'ol days.

Not in my classroom kid!
Peddle your cookies some place else!

This is terrible!

I tried to find a toy catalogue from Toys "r" us.  I called every store in a 50 mile radius, plus I went online and even called the 1-800 number.  And I got the same response with everyone I spoke too.
"Why would you want a catalog?  The coupons aren't valid anymore."

What?  Really?  That's not what a toy catalog is for!!  It's not about the coupons or the overpriced gadgets!  Its about making a letter to santa.  It's about relishing in the idea of tinsel and holiday making. It's about dreaming and wishing and asking and when Christmas morning comes, its about receiving!

Receiving something that you don't deserve.  Just because you are asked.  Just because you are special. Just because you are loved.

Isn't that's the real story of Christmas?

...

I think I just rediscovered Christmas for myself.  I guess I just needed to see it written down.

Antenella

Turning Two!

It has been quite a celebration in my house this past couple of days.  My son turned two yesterday but that hasn't stopped us from celebrating everyday before and after for the past month.  The kid has had three birthday cakes in the past 5 days. Seriously?  Who's idea is it to give a two year old that much sugar?

As the date come closer to my baby boy turning 2, I have been reflecting on what a joy he has been.
...

Actually, scratch that.  He has been a complete terror!  As I look at my past posts I realize that most of them are either centered around my son inherent need to destroy my sanity or his incredible ability to toy with his own life.  Between the screaming and the trips to the hospital, I'm pretty much spent.

For the first 9 months of his life all he did was cry.  No, not cry, scream... Like a banshee.  No joke.  He came out screaming like a two year old and it never really changed.  And now that he is actually two years old I can verify that it is in fact a two year old shrike.

He and I did not have a very good start.  In every way that my oldest was a joy, my son was a monster!  He never slept, he need to be constantly fed or held and he made it his job to cry as long and as loud as possible at home, in the car, at church, at target (same thing, right?)... Plus, it took him forever to walk and that kid was friggin heavy!!

I had constant battles over food and toys and attention.  As much as he's cry when he was with me, it would be doubled when I had to leave him somewhere.  God forbid I would have a date night with my husband.  I could hear the faint cry of "hussy" in his cloud of screaming as I would walk out the door.  So not only did he hate being with me, he equally hated not having me around.  Just like a man.

He taught me so much about myself that I honestly wish I had never had the opportunity to find out.  Like how I realized that I would rather give up food then alcohol or that my prayers for a happy child would just turn into desperate pleas for a nap that would last longer then 20 minutes.  Yes, it's true that I love my son but I sure didn't like him for a while there.  We spent so much time yelling and crying at each other that I was convinced that he hated me.  (Which might have true.)

But I look at him today with his big boy haircut (thanks Brandy!) and his little super hero jammies as he concentrates so intently on building his train puzzle and I can't help but think where the time has gone.  He has become such a caring and considerate child.  He is so willing to make friends and loves playing with his sisters.  He loves to sing and dance.  He adores anything that resembles a truck and if it doesn't he will make it into one anyway.

He knows when I'm going to cry and asks to hug me before I drop the first tear.  He comforts his younger sister when she hurts herself.  He sings to himself when he likes what he's eating and thinks goldfish are there own food group.  He loves animals, especially dogs and he just about wets himself when we take him to the zoo.  He loves the water and will run around for hours if you take him to an open field.

Even though he is so distinctly himself, I see so much of who I am in him.  And I realize,  I like who am.  Some times you just need a little mirror to help you see the best of yourself.

Antenella

Things I Miss the Most

I was recently lucky enough to get on the phone with my sister and have some girl time.  She was telling me about her life and how she wanted to make a few changes to make it a little more freeing.  I in turn told her, like any good sister would, that she should sell all her stuff, break her lease, move to a Caribbean island and work as a bartender/stripper to make the bills.  Lord knows she'd be making more then she does.

She laughed, but when the laughter wasn't returned she asked: "You're kidding, right?"

totally...maybe...no.

Was I?  I wish I was.  Projecting, I think, is the word that best describes this extravagant suggestion to my established and well educated sister. That made me realize... I might be feeling a little overwhelmed as a stay-at-home-mom.  

Don't get me wrong.  I am so unbelievable grateful for the life that God has so graciously bestowed on me.  Seriously, I have everything I could have ever hoped or wished for!  So why this sudden outburst of insanity?

It isn't that I dislike my life now, it's just that as time passes I tend to romanticize the life that I lead before becoming a wife and mother.  Here is an un-exhausted list of the few things that I miss about being single.

1.  Sleeping by myself:  I don't necessarily mind sleeping with my husband.  Even with the fact that I have to sleep wearing earplugs just to make it to the REM level of my sleep pattern.  But I have a queen size bed and I can normal share this mattress with at least one and up to three other people.  It doesn't make for the most comfortable or restful nights of sleep.

2. Using the bathroom:  Never in a million years would I have thought that this of all things would make the list.  Seriously, how exciting can it be in there.  Well, apparently it's the most amazing place in my whole house because when ever I step foot into by 2x2 foot half-bath I'm joined my three other people.  Woah, mom's gotta poop! PARTY IN THE BATHROOM!! (cue club music)

3.  Going out:  And I'm not even talking about going out for fun.  I'm talking about running in to get toilette paper because that's the only thing I actually need.  To be able to jump out of my car with nothing but my clutch bag or more accurately my backpack and running inside for nothing more then milk, or eggs, or a Reeses peanut butter cup, 'cause I just really had a craving for one just now.

4.  Eating:  How blissful it was to be able to eat without having to cut up half of it into mushy remnants of what the meal was actually presented as just to have it struck off the fork as it gets close enough to my screaming child's mouth.  Or better yet, looking at the menu and choosing something that I actually wanted to eat and not something that could be easily eaten by someone else with tiny fingers and mouths.

5. Taking a shower:...   Hahahah!  What's that?!

I think it looks like this.

6. Permission to speak freely:  I swear.  A lot.  I'm not proud and it has been a constant struggle to clean up my act.  But now I wish I had spend more time saying what I please.  Now I spend a lot of time gagging myself with my own words.  Mostly because my oldest will most definitely repeat it at her preschool or even worse, in front of her father.

7.  Not having to ask permission:  If I wanted to go see a movie or get my hair done or get my nails done, I made that decision.  If I had the money, what the hell! I'd get it done.  Especially if it was a hard week.  Who needs to eat when my toes have a french manicure on them?  (Let's just say that it's a good thing that Groupon didn't exist when I was single.)

8.  Listening to my own music:  I don't normally get into anything to crazy but there is just something not right about listening to Flo Rider talking about blowing his whistle while my kids sing along in the back seat.  Oh God!  Please don't tell daddy.

exactly!

9. Visiting friends:  If I missed a friend of mine I used to just go see them.  If they lived out of state, i'd call in with some excuse of catching mono and take off for the week.  So what if my car could barely make it there, or that it was usually on my last dime.  When did you get to see your collage friend get crazy on a friday night?  ... I mean when you're not actually still in collage.

10.  Being alone:  I used to spend a lot of time alone.  I used to spend a lot of time in prayer or just listen to music or sleep.  And I know that I am romanticizing this one pretty hard core.  But some days I would really just like to listen to nothing but the sound of my own breathing.

There you have it!  An especially selfish list of things that I miss...

But as I glaze over this list I realize that there isn't anything I would replace.  If I had to sleep by myself again or go out or even eat by myself, it would be so lonely.  So empty.  What about all the laughter that permeates every aspect of this list that was never included until now?  Or the tiny kisses or tiny hugs?  Or those moments where I'm sitting on the couch and all my oldest wants to do is snuggle next to me and watch whatever I'm watching just because she wants to be close.

...

I take it back.  I don't miss any of those things.

Antenella

Tylenol... It's not just for headaches.

Lately, I've been allowing my precious baby angles to go downstairs and watch t.v when they wake up at the butt crack of dawn.  This works for two reasons.  One, it teaches them the importance of independence and working together without their mother constantly swooping in to save the day and two, I get to sleep in past 5:30am.

But don't worry.  Everything is totally safe.  I put out water in their sippy cups the night before as well as a cup of baby crack goldfish for each of them.  Everything is childproofed.  It is virtually impossible for anyone to get hurt or rushed to the hospital...

Unless, of course, you are determined to put your mother into an early grave.

So, one of these days that the kids actually went downstairs by themselves and seem to be entertaining each other in a save and harmless fashion, I decide to take a quick (jail) shower and get the littlest one ready for the day.  Since she's still in a crib she misses all the festivities downstairs.  I look at the clock and rush my youngest downstairs so I can start the same process on the other two children so we can get my oldest off to her preschool before their swim class starts.

I enter the living room and I notice a cap just lying on the floor. This is how in tuned your senses become when becoming a mother.  Not only did I notice this practically obscure object but it was in the mist of the aftermath that is my kids after not being supervised for 20 minutes.  The place was a wreck!
Alas, it was not just any cap. Oh no!  It was THE cap to a Tylenol bottle that I know I normally keep in my diaper bag under lock and key.  Since I tend to get a headache from time to time I keep a little stash of big people medicine in my bag.

Without much more observation I notice the empty bottle with a scattered 5 and a half Tylenol pills (yes, that is 5 and a half!) on the floor next to my son.  This can not be happening.  This kid can't get his animal crackers out of his spill proof cup without having a complete meltdown from frustration.  How the hell did he get into a childproofed tylenol bottle?

                

Frustrating as Hell!

So simple even a child could do it!

               
There must be a rational reason for the scene that is laid out before me.  So I ask my 20 month old.  "What did you do with this bottle?"  He points to his mouth and says "Yum!"
"Did you eat these?!"
"Uh, Huh!" with his most winning smile ever.

I panic.  Only a little at first.  I call poison control.
"How many did he ingest?" the responder asks
"I don't know, maybe 20?"
"Yeeaaaaaaahhhh, you're gonna have to take him to the hospital."
"Shit. Ok."

Hang up.  Get your shoes on, we're going to the hospital.
My daughter,  "I don't want to go to the hospital, I want to go swimming."
I lose it, for real this time.  I start sobbing.
"GETYOURSHOESON!"
"okay, okay."

I speed to the hospital, which is the longest 15 minutes I've ever had, in a sobbing wreck.  I call my husband who works an hour away.  I steal a parking spot all the way in the front from an old man that been waiting. (sorry)  And rush into ER.  The security guard tries to talk me down as I'm getting registered.

For the most part everyone seemed very calm and relaxed and not one doctor looking like Patrick Dempsey came running from the OR saying things like "Strip that kid down, stat!  He's going into surgery!!"  So all and all, I felt a little better just being at the hospital.  Normally, I would feel like no one really seems to care about their patients or take any of their concerns to heart.  Now I know its so they don't make an already hysterical mother go into cardiac arrest.  Then they'll have to deal with even more paper work.

No such luck.

Fortunately, we were the only ones there and they took us back immediately so I finally was able to breath without a paper bag.  My son on the other hand is having a grand ol' time.  Flirting with every nurse (male and female) that came within a 20 mile radius.

Cheese!  Having a Great time in the ER.
And why not?  They have cars!

So they get us all situated in the back and after everyone has me tell the same story a hundred times, I'm pretty good at it by the time the doctor comes in.

No worries, you just got to get him to drink 16oz of Charcoal, pump him full of IV fluids and monitor him for 4 hours.  Great.

There he is strapped to his IV monitor

 The Charcoal was "fun".  I had to force it on him 8ml at a time from a syringe.  Needless to say that by the time I was done it looked like I had adopted two black children.  (I'm their mom, I can say what I want!)  After whipping off my sons blackface (what?) we had to get an IV in him.  Ugh!  That was the hardest part and he just kept screaming because it wouldn't come off of his hand.  sigh, good times.

By the time we were done he had
charcoal on his back.  Really?

Anyway, three kids, a charcoal smoothie, an IV and four hours later, the blood test show that he probably didn't even smell the pills let alone eat them.  Thank You Sweet Baby Jesus!!

So the question really becomes... What is that charcoal going to look like on the way out?

Antenella