Red Pen Mama

For two months, Monkey went to bed contently in her own bed. Not a peep at bedtime.

I was so proud of her, I bought her a kiddie pool. Then, last week, when she clearly and strongly expressed her desire to sleep in my bed, I told her about the pool — tactical error; we hadn’t put it up yet. The information that we owned it was sufficient enough to get her back into her own bed — for one night.

The next night, the battle was renewed. Just as I was readying the “pool” bribe, Monkey, face down on my bed, held up a hand. “Mommy,” she said solemnly, “you can take the pool back to the store.”

Heavens defend us — she’s already anticipating arguments. We’re doomed (again). I was speechless. If the pool didn’t get her in her own bed, I had no idea — short of physical force — what would.

And now, in addition to the fight to sleep in my bed, Monkey has become the queen of the bedtime stall. This has been building for awhile, but it has truly reached new heights. She throws off her covers, and insists I put them back over her. She adopts a new animal every night, and makes me search for it until it can be safely tucked in with her. She dithers over the choice of a book. She goes potty twice before going to bed.

It’s maddening. I have stomped, I have bribed, I have coerced, I have threatened. I have put her to bed with the gate up, and come upstairs to find her bedclothes and stuffed animals against that gate and her in my bed. She’s a 3-year-old escape artist! If I close the door, she yells and cries — and she can open the door anyway.

Last night, I simply gave up. I read her book and sang her lullabies in my bed. When I went to bed later, she was sleeping, so I moved her, and she slept the rest of the night in her own bed.

I guess that’s the best I can hope for right now. I cannot think of a bribe that will entice her. DearDR suggests that we keep the pool but not let her swim in it, but I don’t want to fight that battle.

She’s won. Until I think of something else.

Suggestions welcome!

I could not be happier that the weekend is over and that I can spend most of the week sitting at my desk. I seriously overdid it this weekend, especially at a Burgh Mom’s get together at the zoo, and a long day of sitting is in order.

The Pittsburgh Zoo was awesome, however. I just need to get something to attach to my stroller so it can carry two toddlers, because Monkey was seriously flagging by the time we were heading back to the car. I decided that giving her a piggy-back ride (why is it called a piggy-back ride?) part of the way would be a good plan. Not so much. The small of my back was very bad on Sunday.

Much thanks to my fellow Burgh Mom attendees who were kind enough not to lose us in the crowd out of sheer embarrassment of being seen with me and my children. You see, by the time we all met up, my children — at a perfectly dry day at the zoo — were covered in mud. I proceeded to get quite filthy myself, and I can’t remember the last time I was so happy to take a shower at 3 p.m.

How did such a thing happen?

I managed to park myself in the concession area next to the only mud puddle in the whole zoo. It wasn’t too bad when Monkey decided to step in it; true to form, Monkey was wearing her rain boots. Not because it looked rainy, of course; Saturday was a gorgeous, if hot, day to stroll the zoo. The problem was when Bun, also true to form, decided she was going to do exactly what her big sister was doing. Unfortunately, Bun was not wearing her rain boots. I thought sneakers were a much more reasonable choice.

Silly me.

I could have engaged in a public battle royale with my younger daughter regarding the puddle of mud and her desire to splash in it. Changing tables wasn’t much of an option as it was already close to noon and the place was crowded. I was already sharing my table with two other moms (not the people I was here to meet, but that was okay) and their two kids.

In the end, though, I just let Bun have her fun. First of all, the mud puddle pretty much guaranteed that my children were not going to wander off. Secondly, I was able to just sit for a period of time as I looked for the people I was meeting. Third, I figured “kids playing in mud puddle” was an easy landmark. And lastly: Dirt washes off.

So Bun and Monkey tromped and splashed in the puddle. I managed to keep them from splashing others, which was good. They got some laughs, and I got some glances of sympathy. (Monkey was already getting a lot of comments as her outfit consisted of a cute little orange, red, white and black skort with a white tank — and pink rain boots.)

After us Burgh Moms finished lunch and/or snacks, I got Bun stripped out of her wet and muddy shoes, socks and shorts. For some reason I had dry shoes and socks for Monkey but not for Bun — serious oversight there — so Bun spent the rest of the walk in her stroller, bare feet propped up on her tray. She was lounging. We saw the monkeys and gorillas; all the kids seemed to like each other and get along together, although Alexis was very shy for awhile.

We took off before this fun ensued, and it took us another hour to get to the car (the Pittsburgh Zoo is BIG). Monkey developed a little crush on Gina’s boy, who (and I’m seconding Burgh Baby’s Mom here) needs to be cloned, or at least loaned to mothers of little girls for days at the zoo or similar outings. He was very sweet, and I think Monkey would have followed him into the lion’s den if he was going, and it was quite a trick to separate her from him.

Boy, you’ve got a job if you ever want one.

At bedtime, along with all the animals that we recounted seeing at the zoo, Monkey added, “And I talked to The Boy. I was very shy at first, but then I talked to him!” She smiled to herself at the memory. Oh, dear, I’ve a 3-year-old going on teen. We are so doomed!

I left that zoo sweaty and filthy — those shorts may never be clean again — but it was totally worth it to spend that time with my girls, and meet other bloggin’ moms and their kids. What a good time. Next time I meet the Burgh Moms, though, I hope air conditioning and alcohol will be involved, the kids will be at home, and nary a mud puddle will be in sight. I think I will be able to make a little better of an impression that way.

I didn’t write a lot about what was going on with us last week for two reasons. One was I wanted to get that post about X and The Ex off my plate. It was something I really wanted to write about, and I knew if I got involved in “the daily” I wouldn’t get it done.

Two, I wasn’t having a lot of fun.

Since I have come back to work, the girls have suffered several infections and ailments (some mysterious). I don’t know that the two are connected, although it is hard to dismiss the coincidence. The most stressful part of it (aside from having sick children) is dealing with it long distance.

As a typical example, I will get a phone call from Day Care Lady:

DCL: Monkey/Bun is running a fever.
Me: How high is it?
DCL: Oh, about 100 degrees.
Me: How has she seemed?
DCL: She’s a little fussy. But she ate well. OR: She’s screaming her head off/Telling me her ear really, really hurts. She won’t play/eat/nap.
Me: Should I come get her?
DCL: It’s up to you.

So then I agonize about whether or not I should leave work, and phone the pediatrician’s office in the meantime. If I get an evening appointment, it goes: pick up kids, take Sick Kid and Well Child to doctor’s office where Sick Kid cries and cries while Well Child jumps around and is loud to get the attention that Sick Kid is getting from Mommy and The Doctor, hear Sick Kid has another ear infection (or two), get prescription for antibiotics, leave office, try to get dinner into kids, run to pharmacy to fill prescription, keep kids occupied while prescription is filled (this is why we go to the Target pharmacy), go home, wash/bathe children, get them in pajamas, get medicine into the sick one, get milk and/or cookies into children while they watch a video, read books, sing lullabies, collapse into exhausted heap on couch, drink a beer, go to bed my own self.

One or two days later: Repeat with formerly Well Child as Sick Kid.

My father-in-law has taken Sick Kid on one or two occasions; he was the one on hand the day DearDR had to get to work and we had the paperwork for the medical proxy. Then I am on the phone with him and the doctor, listening to Sick Kid crying in the background. This is stressful for all of its own reasons, including the fact that my FIL — as much as I do love the man — is kind of useless with the kids. He gets them to the pediatrician’s office, and gets them back to DCL, and that’s about it. He doesn’t ask the doctor anything — hence I am sitting at my desk 30 miles away talking on the phone; he doesn’t really listen to the doctor; he doesn’t drop off the prescription to be filled. (He thinks we should get our prescriptions filled at a different, closer, pharmacy. He is not all about the multitasking possibilities of Target.)

It would be much better if Bella were our medical proxy, but Bella has a lot on her plate already. Nanny is not doing very well. (Additionally, my grandmother, up in Erie, is not doing well either.) More details on this in another post.

The most frequent diagnosis has been ear infection. They have each had four in the past five months — on two occasions (if memory serves), both of Bun’s ear have been infected.

The upshot of all of this is that my girls have been referred to an ear-nose-throat (ENT) specialist. I have an appointment at the end of the month.

I am having a lot of regrets about my use of antibiotics. My thinking at the time was simply, “Oh, it’s just an infection. It’ll go away with this medicine.” And, true to form, the infection did go away. For awhile. But then the infection, or another infection, came back. Again, and again, and again. In Monkey’s case, she took a break from the ear infection to get a throat infection.

I wish I had taken the “wait-and-see” approach to the ear infections. As in “wait 48 hours to see if the infection clears up on its own, treating the pain and low-grade fever with ibuprophen and/or acetiminophen”. Many an ear infection will just clear up on its own, according to the literature.

There is a chance, of course, that I would be right back where I am, only having put my children through a couple more days of pain first. So there is no point in beating myself up about it.

But now I keep thinking about facing a man, an expert doctor-type man, who is going to tell me to put tubes in my children’s ears, and saying, “No thank you. They’ll outgrow it.”

I need some ammunition people. I will be doing my own research, of course.

Or, if you or someone you know thinks tubes are the way to go, some encouragement in that direction. DCL says tubes are awesome (her oldest son got them as an infant). My father advises passionately against them.

I should explain here that as an infant and a toddler I had ear infection after ear infection. The last course of treatment my pharmacist parents agreed to was one month of 1 teaspoon of amoxicillin daily. I recall having a couple ear infections as an older child, too, around 5 or 6 years old. But ultimately, I did not get tubes, and I’m fine (my ears are fine, in any case — I’m a bit of a loon, frankly).

Advice welcome; assvice will be submitted for ridicule. Thanks.

I am having a deep dilemma. (In so far as blogging dilemmas go, anyhow.)

I really want to write about the X show, and my unique experience of it.

I want to write about what it was like to suddenly be in 1996 again, only this time with my husband, and the knowledge that I had to get up early the next day to take care of my kids.

But it is the Wednesday* after a long weekend, and somehow these things have lost their immediacy.

You may think that I would have had the opportunity, over the long weekend, to actually write about these things. Clearly, this is not the case.

The weekend was very busy. I have to say, it was a good one.

Friday night, for all of its attendant strangeness, was great fun.

Saturday, I bought my herbs, and two tomato plants, and I managed to get them repotted, even with my 3-year-old helping me.

Sunday I got a lot done, too, although DearDR, for all of his good intentions, did not come close to accomplishing what he set out (to plan) to do. Poor DearDR — his “adventures” this weekend would make a whole blog entry themselves.

Bun said several new words this weekend: eye; bug; boo-boo; eat, also making the sign; “mite-mite” for goodnight; “kay” for okay, and a couple of times something suspiciously like thank you, sounding like “tank-oh”. I think she is trying to say Monkey’s name, too.

Much puddle splashing was accomplished (Bun’s nickname on Monday: Stinky McWetpants), and plant watering, and bubble-blowing, and dancing, and digging in dirt.

And then I still have this back-log of experience of Friday night that will not go away. I am going to have to write about it, although it has little to do with my kids or my experience as a mother, which, ostensibly, this blog is about.

Guess I better get on it.

* I had every intention of downloading video and uploading this post yesterday. But then I got a call from Day Care Lady that Monkey had been crying all day and complaining that her ear hurt. I honestly did not believe her at first — Monkey had been great all weekend, more than great. But a 7 p.m. trip to the pediatrician confirmed her fourth ear infection in five months, with the added bonus of a perforated eardrum. We’ll be seeing an ENT (ear-nose-throat) specialist (and a chiropractor) in the next few weeks to figure out what is next.

“It’s probably a virus, and there’s nothing much we can do for her.”

Great, thank you. I missed half a day of work for this, which means I have to work half a day on Saturday? Fan-freakin-tastic.

Admittedly, when your 3-year-old starts screaming that her lady business hurts (yes, she knows all the scientific names for everything, she just chooses to use “lady business”, courtesy of DearDR) when she is peeing, you kind of figure something is up. And it’s better to go to the doctor than not.

And now, I’ve got a 3-year-old who seems to have no problem peeing when someone else is in charge, but when I take her, she balks and cries and says it is going to hurt.

The medicine I picked up at the doctor’s suggestion (takes the sting out of peeing; turns urine orangey-red) stains everything bright yellow. It is a pill, see, and I have to crush half of an adult-sized dose, then mix it with some kind of liquid and get the 3-year-old to drink it. That didn’t go over well at all last night, and now I have a bright yellow stain in the middle of my already-not-so-attractive kitchen floor linoleum. And she’s not going to be able to wear that shirt again.

I suppose I could ask her to snort it, but I might be prepping her for a bad habit later.

I am very tired, Internet peeps. And real peeps. And family members. I don’t think I have it any harder or any worse than anyone else — at work, at home, in my extended family. So, while I don’t want to complain, I really want to complain.

I’m tired. My head is splitting. I have been working from 7 a.m. to 4:30 or 5 p.m., Monday through Friday; I have to come to work on Saturday this week.

When I get home, it’s kids and house duty. I can’t get to bed before 10 p.m. even when I need to.

The children have gone to the doctor every month so far this year; some months, we have had to go twice. They have been on nine antibotics between the two of them, and had three viruses (at least).

DearDR works. That is what he does. He works every day, longer hours than I work, and he gets less sleep than I. On Sundays, he makes brunch and cleans the hell out of the kitchen. And, then, often works a little.

I’m tired. And I’ve got five more weeks of overtime to go. Oh, well.

Maybe it’s time to schedule that spa visit (DearDR got me a gift certificate for Christmas).

So, I had to take a sick day yesterday. The doctor says I probably don’t have anything serious, since I didn’t have a high fever. He advised rest and liquids, Tylenol for discomfort (I had a very sore throat), and said I could travel this weekend, “as long as you’re not flying to Italy.”

Sigh. Italy.

I’m back at work today. I feel pretty good — about 70 percent. I could use more sleep. Monkey was up at 4 a.m., stealing my covers and kicking me. She was whining, too, but it wasn’t until 6:30 a.m., when she started wailing that we really paid attention. She was crying about how her ear hurt.

DearDR and my father-in-law took her to the doctor at 8:45 a.m. She has a double ear infection. Meds are pending. My father-in-law has the prescription.

DearDR hasn’t packed anything yet. I have the girls’ clothes, shoes, and rain gear together. Plus the toys, books, and arts & crafts stuff we will be taking. Tonight is the big packing night.

I want to go. I need to go. I need to hang with my friends and drink some beer (not too much — I’ll be doped up on cold medicine as needed, too). I want to watch my kids run around in the mud.

My whole team at work has just been placed on mandatory overtime, starting yesterday. So is it understandable I need to blow off steam?

Am I being crazy or selfish, taking my just-recovered-from-coxsackie-virus kids (one with a cough, one with a double ear infection) and myself into the woods? And DearDR, too, let’s not forget. Who will sleep as much as he can. To see friends I haven’t seen in awhile? To drink beer?

We’re not contagious any longer (or, not much, I guess. Who knows what germs my darling little petrie dishes are crawling with?). What would you do?

I set out this month with every intention of posting daily. Then, I dropped a day due to a day chock full of activity and accidents.

And then the girls came down with Coxsackie virus (this is the non-scary link; for the scary one, click here).

The Coxsackie virus, as some of you may be aware, is highly contagious and is the cause of foot-hand-and-mouth disease.

So far the foot/hand involvement has been minimal for my girls (knock wood). A few little pimples; Bun had a blister on her thumb. The mouth involvement, however, was brutal. Imagine how it would feel if your throat were lined with canker sores.

Now imagine being 15 months old.

On Wednesday, after I had been at the office for about 45 minutes, DearDR called.

“Bun is very clingy and whiny, and she’s still feverish,” he said.

“Do you want me to come home?” I asked.

“Yes.”

So I drove the half-hour home to hang with Bun. I just figured she as running a fever as a reaction to her MMR last week. (And if you want to read some really scary Internet stuff, just google “fever after MMR shot”, and read the non-official sites.) After she woke from a short, restless nap, I got a look down into Bun’s throat. She was screaming at the time, so it was real easy.

When the doctor saw it, he said, “Hmm. That doesn’t look like strep.”

They did a culture anyway. Negative for strep throat.

I have to admit here, that for the first time, my pediatrician’s office let me down. I don’t know if the doctor (one of our regulars) was booked or in a hurry to get out of there, but he gave no advice (except for the parting shot, “Tylenol” over his shoulder as he walked out the door) and answered no questions. A nurse answered some of my questions; my brother (a dermatologist) answered a couple more; and the Internet alternately scared me and soothed my fears (see links above).

And no one — not the doc, not the nurses, not even DCL — suggested I keep the girls at home. I mean, how dumb is that?

I think the reasoning was that they had a virus (well, to this point, Monkey didn’t have it, but she was raging with a juicy fever by the time I picked them up from daycare Thursday), and the other kids were already exposed anyway.

In short, I did end up staying home with them on Friday. And somehow or another, I actually got things done around the house over the weekend (this is where the in-laws were invaluable). I sorted through the girls’ clothes, swapping out fall/winter clothes for spring/summer, next sizes up. I got through a mountain of paperwork in the office (this due to a three-and-a-half hour nap on Bun’s part and DearDR’s occupying Monkey during that time).

Also, somehow or another, DearDR and I managed to spend some quality time as a couple. I think our mutual support and team-work fostered a sense of intimacy.

We weathered Bun clinging to me like a barnacle all day on Sunday, and the whining from both girls all weekend (this is where the beer proved invaluable). And now it’s Monday, the in-laws have the girls — we figured one more day at home would be in everyone’s best interest — and I am back at the office. I have my fingers crossed that everyone is on the mend.

Edited to add: Of course, I should have sucked it up and stayed home Thursday, too, but I felt… I don’t know, weird about it. Worried about my job and what my boss/employer would think. I was worried about the wrong, thing, I can safely admit now. I don’t know if I will lose vacation/personal time, or if it will count as sick time, and that doesn’t really matter, either. Everyone’s okay, and I’m certainly glad I stayed home on Friday, and that we’ve made it through the weekend.

I dropped the daily blogging ball on Sunday. I hadn’t made Sunday’s post a priority, so it’s not surprising to me that it didn’t happen. We stayed over at Bella and Tadone’s house Saturday night on Nanny duty (my in-laws are out of town, and we’re all taking turns hanging out with Nanny). Earthmother and her husband and their two children were there too. It was a good time, in general, although I was severely disappointed in Spider-Man 3. Whew, yawn, what a slow movie. The “blooper reel” is very funny though.

Then Sunday I was supposed to get up and go to 8 a.m. mass. Instead of hitting snooze, I must have turned my alarm off, and didn’t get up until 7:30, with the kids. The rest of the day was a whirlwind of activity: shopping, making brunch and visiting with friends (at our place), and three near-emergency room visits. Then DearDR and I sniped at each other, and our friend and stylist came over to cut our hair.

I have to admit, I didn’t even think to myself, “I should try to get a post up today.” All the stuff that was happening required full attention.

Our three almost-visits to the emergency room:

Number One: Bun, trying to climb onto the table at Costco, slipped and fell on her head. It scared the crap out of Dan and me, but as she didn’t lose consciousness and I managed to get ice on the bump right away, we decided against going to the hospital. After she calmed down, she was fine: no seizures or twitching; she smiled and was cheerful, and helped me eat a vanilla frozen yogurt berry sundae. More than anything, it was embarrassing — drawing mostly sympathetic glances and a couple well-meaning inquiries.

Interestingly enough, I then came across this post over at Mary P’s. I didn’t feel guilty about Bun’s fall — kids tumble from time to time, and you just hope they don’t hurt themselves too badly. DearDR blamed me for Bun falling (I was getting the high chair ready for her to sit in, and was not right by her side). I think we were equally culpable because he was sitting next to her, eating pizza and feeding pizza to Monkey. Neither one of us were in position to catch her, and neither one of us stopped her from climbing. That was probably the seed of the spat we had later that day (that and some sexual frustration).

Near-visit two was much less dramatic: DearDR was wiping the stove off, and almost burned the palm of his hand when the wet cloth he was using stopped moving over a hot (very hot) burner.

Then at dinner, I sliced my finger with a very sharp knife while cutting up Bun’s pizza (yes, DearDR and Monkey had pizza twice in one day). It wasn’t a big cut, but in the first five minutes or so afterwards, I thought it was deep enough that it was going to require a stitch or two. Actually, I probably could have gone and gotten those stitches, but I didn’t want to. With enough pressure, it stopped bleeding enough to get two bandages on it, and we went from there. (To literally add insult to injury — or injury to injury, really — I slammed the same finger in the door of Bun’s room last night.)

It wasn’t until yesterday that I thought, “Ooops. Forgot my ABC post. Oh well.” I’m not that upset about it (the way I would have been upset back in November if I hadn’t “succeeded” at the original NaBloPoMo). I let myself off the hook.

I seem to be able to do that more easily more often these days. Hmm. I’ll have to think about that.

And thanks to my (2) commenters from yesterday. I was looking at my stats, and my traffic is pretty good. Just no one says anything often, so I wondered. I’m not the best a posting comments elsewhere, so I have nothing to complain about.

a c v o w m r

Get it? (It’s not any kind of acronym.)

(Sorry.)

The Last of the Letters (for a while):

Dear April NaBloPoMo:

I blew it! Oh, well. I haven’t had comments lately, so it’s not as if anyone’s missing out. The weekend was too busy to put posting at the top of my list. Even for 15 minutes. Maybe I’ll try again in May.

Sincerely,
RPM

Dear I-79 Drivers:

Pass on the left; drive on the right. It is so easy. Please comply with this basic, simple guideline. I don’t even care if you don’t use your turn signals or if you want to slow down before you enter a tunnel. Right for driving; left for passing. Thank you.

And if you are a big truck, DO NOT pull into the passing lane ahead of me. Just don’t. Stay put until I pass you. My husband and children thank you. Because, I swear, my head is going to just explode one of these days.

Sincerely,
RPM

Dear DearDR:

Want to go to lunch this week? Thursday or Friday are best for me. I hope so. It seems the only way we can get a whole hour to ourselves.

Yer ever lovin’ wife,
rpm

Dear Reader(s):

If you stumble onto this site today, please leave a comment. I’m only asking out of a sense of masochistic curiosity. Thanks.

Sincerely,
rpm

And now, back to our regularly scheduled (if sporadically posted) programming.

I truly do appreciate your restaurant. You are clearly welcoming to children, without completely catering to them; you offer good service and good food. Your wait staff is very efficient without seeming hurried.

We arrived before the crowd — a mother with very young children always plans to arrive well before the crowd. Nanny was with us, too, for which I was grateful. I had two children, a 3-year-old and a 15-month-old; a diaper bag; a Dora Backpack full of crayons, toys, and stickers; my purse; Nanny’s purse; a Toys R Us coupon book; and a bright green Backyardigans bucket with a few odds and ends that my 3-year-old decided were vital to her dining enjoyment.

Some odds and ends to which she was very attached. A plastic dinosaur, some toy binoculars, a couple of crayons, and, most importantly, the “music box” from this skirt, on the far left:

As I’ve mentioned, most of your staff are just great. I have never complained about the servers or the service when I’ve eaten at your restaurant.

Your bus boys, on the other hand… Well, let’s just hope that the one I met today was not representative of your table-clearing crew.

You see, when children are done, they are done. You’ve probably seen it countless times. So when children are done, it’s a scramble. Get the bill, pay the bill, get the kids in coats, leave a tip, remember the take-home, and so on. Most importantly, don’t forget the stuff you brought with you.

Today, we briefly forgot the bucket. We didn’t even get out the door before I realized — er, well, Nanny realized — we didn’t have it.

I popped back to the table, but it had already been cleared, cleaned and reset. So I sent one of the (slightly vapid, but still nice) teenage girls at the front counter to ask the bus boy for it.

After a few minutes, the bus boy came out with the bucket. Whew, I thought.

I peeked in it. No toys. Uh, oh.

“I rinsed it out real well,” the boy was telling me. Excuse me?

“There was a crumbled up children’s menu in it,” he explained. “So I just threw it out. But I rinsed it out with hot water real well.”

“Where are the toys that were in here?” I asked. I have to admit to being a little bewildered. He threw out the entire bucket?

“Oh.” Pause. “Well… I just saw the children’s menu. So I threw it out.”

In the meantime, Monkey was waiting patiently (read: jumping up and down, yelling “my bucket! my bucket!”) for her bucket. I handed it to her.

She eagerly looked inside.

And then looked at me, clearly as bewildered as I felt.

“Where are my toys?”

Now, Olive Garden, I don’t know if you have children of your own. You certainly are family-friendly, and you treat children very well. You seem to encourage your staff to be very child friendly. Lord knows, they have to be. In the room I was in today, there were seven children under 4 years old alone (including mine). Their tips are probably dependent on treating kids well.

How was I supposed to answer that question, asked by my child, her blue eyes clearly pleading with me not to tell her the truth.

It’s true, we did leave the bucket behind while we went potty, changed diapers, and generally got ready to get back in the car and head home. We were probably away from the table for five minutes.

It’s true, the lunch rush was well under way, and I know a quick turn-over is vital to your business.

It’s true, my 3-year-old undoubtedly threw her menu in there on top of her toys when her food came.

But, how much time (and, I’m sorry, intelligence) does it take to throw out a menu, and give the bucket, with toys, to the front of the house in case a distraught parent came back looking for it? Thirty seconds? Fifteen? Or just put the whole thing aside until the rush was over or a parent came asking for it?

I wanted to say to my very sad child, “Honey, I’m sorry. This boy was so very busy he didn’t take the time to check the bucket for toys. Actually, he probably didn’t think once before just tossing the whole thing in the trash. I’m not really sure where his mind was. But it certainly wasn’t on anything as trivial as a child’s bucket and whether or not it contained some well-loved — and soon to be sadly missed — toys.”

I had to apologize to Monkey. Your staff had already returned to work. I promised to replace the toys — we are going to the toy store tomorrow, on, until that moment, an unrelated reward errand. And it’s not as if anything was too expensive.

I think I can afford this whole set of dinosaurs:

I am sad about the hokey-pokey music, however. The skirt was a gift from her godparents. I will have to buy another skirt, and that’s okay. But now I will have two skirts and only one music box.

But that’s not really the point. The point is: I don’t think they should have been thrown out in the first place. A little extra time, a little extra effort — admittedly, on my part, too — could have prevented this whole tragedy.

Oh, well. Done is done. I certainly won’t be leaving anything behind — at any restaurant — next time. But please keep this in mind, and maybe have a little chat with your bus boys.

One person’s trash, after all, may be a child’s treasure.

Sincerely,
Red Pen Mama