Thursday, May 5, 2011

Awkward Mom vs. Class (part 2)

OK, now, where were we? Oh yes, there was blood....

So, Awkward Dad and I rush over to Super Baby to find a waterfall of blood gushing from his mouth. All my panic bells start ringing, plus that tiny shameful one in the back that peels "ding-dong-all-your-chances-of-making-friends-in-this-class-are-dead." We have the full attention of the entire room, except for Super Toddler, who is playing with legos and not remotely concerned about his brother's well-fare. The attention has a smattering of genuine concern (the Awesome family), but is otherwise split between pity (i.e. "poor thing, so sad his parents weren't watching him better") and relief (i.e. "thank goodness that wasn't my child"). Awkward Dad scoops Super Baby up and attempts to look in his mouth. He is bitten for his trouble. (That vampire theory is starting to make more sense, eh?) I take Super Baby, set him on the sink counter, and attempt to wipe some of the blood off him, while the teacher gets a glass of water. I end up with most of the blood on me, which provides some entertaining looks later at lunch, but that is a different story. Right now, Super Baby is howling and crying, but the bleeding doesn't not seem as dramatic as it did. I am starting to think we should be more worried about Awkward Dad's new puncture wound. My thoughts are confirmed with Super Baby stops crying when offered the water and smiles with delight. You can almost hear him thinking; "What? Are you silly adults serious? You are gonna give me a full glass of "top-less" water just because I hurt my mouth? OK, whatever, Yippee, play time." Yes, he promptly "drinks" it, spilling 75% down his shirt and into his lap, where he proceeds to splash quite happily. This enables Awkward Dad to peek cautiously into Super Baby's mouth and discover that he has a small cut on the gums above his 2 front teeth. We have an intense debate about taking him to the dentist, but once Awkward Dad confirms that both teeth are firmly rooted in place and not loose (while getting bitten again for his trouble), we finally breathe and agree he should be fine.

I settle with Super Baby into the baby section of the room, and Awkward Dad leaves to rescue Awesome Dad, who is watching both toddlers. In a blink of an eye, the teacher is singing "Clean Up! Clean Up!" It appears our impromptu ER session with Super Baby lasted longer than we thought. I gather Super Baby up and head toward the circle for Circle Time, when I hear a rumpus near the legos. I stretch my ear in that direction and there is a brief moment of hope, but I soon realize that it is my oldest son making said rumpus, which soon accelerates to a full out screaming fit.

Now, I am rather hazy on what is happening, as I am not present, but Awkward Dad catches me up later. I shall attempt to second-hand recreate it for you. It appears that Super Toddler and Awesome Toddler are playing with legos. Another child comes over to play with legos. Super Toddler must view this child as a villain because he pushes said child and refuses to share any of the lego bounty with him. Awkward Dad pulls Super Toddler into a "time-out," just as the teacher announces "Clean Up! Put all the toys away." We are guessing Super Toddler assumed the toys were being put away in direct response to his refusal to share and, finding that excessive and unfair, decides to let his frustration show, at about 1000 decibels.

I turn to see Awkward Dad heading over to Circle Time with a screaming, flailing, contortionist Super Toddler. The rest of the class sees this too, as no one is looking at anything else, let alone the teacher, trying valiantly to make her announcements. Several children start to cry; guess their ears are bleeding and I am sure that hurts. Awkward Dad surveys the situation and decides on a retreat. He takes Super Toddler out of the room, which you would think is the best plan. Hmmm...apparently not. Super Toddler's abrupt absence from the room sets off Awesome Toddler, who lets out a scream nearly as piercing as the one that just left the room, somehow teleports across the room to the door, and begins beating on it. Now, 3 more children are crying, the teacher has given up, and I am trying not to meet Awesome Dad's eyes. So, I make an executive decision, set Super Baby on the circle line, and walk over to the door. I give Awesome Toddler a quick hug and open the door to reveal a whole other level of rumpus. Super Toddler is bawling and screaming "momma." When he sees me, it gets even worse and he reaches out for me, nearly toppling his father. It is super sad, but what nearly breaks my heart is Awkward Dad's face as he struggles to not let the temporary rejection of a 3-year-old hurt him and fails. I take Super Toddler in my arms and he immediately stops crying. I enter the room and Awesome Toddler stops crying. We enter the circle, the teacher starts singing, and everyone else stops crying. I look at Awkward Dad and he looks like he is about to start crying. I think I preferred the rumpus....

Oh readers, Awkward Dad recovered, never you worry! Later that night, when Awkward Mom was trying to make Super Toddler go to bed (at a perfectly reasonable time, we would like to point out), Super Toddler ran away from her, screaming "Daddy! Daddy!" When she found him clinging to Awkward Dad's leg, before she pulled him off, she had a moment to wonder if that was really a satisfied smile on Awkward Dad's face or merely a trick of the light. Must have been the light. Thanks for stopping by, see you next time on the Adventures of Awkward Mom!

Thought you would like to see how superheroes recover from catastrophic classes.

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