I watch way too much Dateline, 20/20 and 48 Hours Mysteries. I also read the paper and watch the news daily which can, at times, feed my motherly paranoia.
I trust very few people outside my family to watch and care for my kids. I receive email notifications from the State of Delaware when a sex offender moves into my zip code.
When my kids ask to go play outside, alone, at age three and five, they get really upset when I say “no” if I am unable to come out with them. They find this especially unfair since “all the other kids are doing it.”
That old line.
Some of the best times I had as a kid were riding around my neighborhood on a bike and playing in the woods that backed up to my neighborhood. Times were different then.
My kids had already been outside twice on Sunday, but Mother Nature and her beautiful weather sang her siren’s song beckoning them to come back outside for a third time. They had been very well behaved for most of the day, and cleverly used that as leverage in their plight to play outside alone. I was wrapping up some emails and told them that they were allowed to play in the front yard until I was able to come outside as well. My desk is right next to a front window, so I felt that was a safe compromise. With the window open, and the boys outside, I could finish what I was doing without the constant barrage of questions as to when I’d be finished.
“I have to poop first,” Jake announced loudly. “Fine, fine, Jake. Just go do your business and head outside with your brother.” I told him and I headed back to my work.
I saw Joey kicking a ball around and heard Jake flush the toilet, run the water in the sink, and then head outside loudly calling his brother as he ran out the door. The boys were just out of sight on the front steps, but with the window open and them playing nicely just 10 feet away, I regained my focus on what I was doing.
Out of the corner of my eye, about ten minutes later, I saw the boys running around on the front lawn. “We’re under attack!” Joey screamed, and without looking away from my computer I called out to him to keep it to a dull roar outside. Jake giggle in delight and cried out “Oh, no! I’m under attack too!” Joey quickly replied, “You’re going to get it now, Jacob! It’s raining missiles!”
Now, my boys have active imaginations. We own no toy missiles, so what could they be using as missiles? Sticks? Stones? Something from the garage? Who knew. Whatever it was, it called for further investigation on my part, so that one of them didn’t end up with a dart in the forehead or something.
As I entered the foyer, saw that the powder room door was open and so was the cabinet under my sink. Jake must have gone looking for a hand towel which I keep under the sink, I supposed. However, as I turned and faced the front door, I saw what he actually discovered under the sink.
My front steps and the surrounding plants around our front door were littered with tampon wrappers.
My front walk and 1/3 of my front lawn were bombed with a multipack of tampons.
Super, regular and lite day tampons, I mean “missiles,” were everywhere.
The battle, which was still in progress, left me momentarily speechless. Life slowed down for a moment as I turned and looked up and down my street.
Neighbors were outside, mowing lawns, working in the yard, laughing at my kids. Two women, each with a stroller, giggled as the walked by sneaking extra glances of the boys.
Have I ever mentioned most of my close friends live 35-40 miles away and I’m hoping to make some more new friends down where I live now? Well, I am, but safe to say those two ladies, each with kids about Cecilia’s age, will probably not be among them.
Life sped back to normal speed as I tried, rather unsuccessfully, to nonchalantly clean up the Costco sized box of tampons from my front yard. The boys were now rather irritated I was taking away such a neat box of toys they had never seen before. I tried to quietly shush them as I cleaned up the lawn, chasing loose wrappers as the gently blew around the grass.
As I was quickly cleaning, I was hit in the ass by a rogue super plus tampon and prayed silently for the great, green suburban earth beneath my feet to open up and swallow me whole.
No such luck.
Ever had your kids get into your lady products? Did it end this badly? Tell me your story and make me feel better!