The Dark Side

It was bound to happen sooner or later. Sooner arrived quickly Monday, as we got pulled into the dark side: fast-food restaurants. One of our playdate moms suggested we meet at the Burger King playland. Never one to turn down an opportunity for my children — even though it's much harder to play helicopter mom when we go beyond our doors than in our own place — I agreed. In my defense, we didn't eat a thing. As far as I know, the children have never had a french fry. They're bound to start begging for such things sooner or later. Later will suit me fine.

I'm not sure just why yet, but I reckon we were supposed to go. Everything turned out OK, though I ignored a couple big signs that we should have stayed home. At precisely 8 a.m. the mom called to confirm our playdate. We were to meet at 9:15 a.m. Around 8:20 or so, Mikel came in to tell me that Alexander was sick. It appeared as if our baby had vomitted all of last night's dinner and then some. It was all over his crib and stuffed animal. But he was acting just fine and giggling and playing with his toys. I debated what to do. My first thought was to call my own mom for medical advice like I always do. But I knew it was early and I wanted to see if I could handle it on my own. I pulled out the several-inches-thick Caring For Your Baby And Young Child — Birth To Age 5 book. The book said not to worry too much, to gauge your actions based on the child's. Alexander didn't have a fever and seemed happy, so I thought maybe he had simply eaten something that didn't agree with him. (Could it have been that the french toast casserole I'd made Sunday morning was too rich? But nearly 24 hours had passed by this time.) Since I haven't gotten Alexander to drink much pure water yet, I followed the book's suggestion and prepared a bit of sugar water in his sippy cup. While removing his bedding and starting a wash I continued to debate if we should keep our date but ultimately decided that we would go for a short time while monitoring Alexander closely.

Almost 9:10 a.m. and we're finally ready to go. I had fed the children yogurt, started the vomit bedding to wash and cleaned up my son. The children were whining to be cut loose. But my keys were nowhere to be found. I emptied the diaper bag twice. Checked through my purse several times. Looked under every piece of paper on the counter. Rummaged through my coat pockets and the dog's leash pouch. Having to call Mikel at work and ask if he had, by chance, picked up my keys was like admitting aloud that I'm not very organized. I had to be absolutely sure they were not in the apartment in order to be sure that he had them (though it has never happened before). One more round of searching. By the time I gave in and made the phone call it was about 9:25. My husband had, in fact, taken my keys. The kids and I were stranded, which didn't stress me too much because I figured it was a sure sign we were supposed to stay home. But Mikel insisted on coming back with my keys. We live only 10 minutes from the office, so it was convenient enough. He not only brought the keys home, but he helped load up the kids and followed me to Burger King, where he helped get them out of the car and into the warm play area. He even found his inner kid and crawled up inside the tunnels and down the twisty slide with the children before heading back to work. We were 45 minutes late, but our mom date and her son were still there.

P.S.: Alexander never got sick again but still hasn't picked up his appetite.