That was the plan, until I looked up from what I was doing in Charlotte's room to find my eldest and cleverest child had gotten a plastic kid-sized clothing hanger stuck, hook side down, in his throat.
GAH!
He was the color of a lobster after cooking and was gagging. After I unhooked him (and it must be said, that I never EVER thought that the skill I learned from my dad and step-brother of freeing a fish from its hook would EVER be directly used in my daily parenting endeavors, but hey - thanks guys! - and I'm glad I was paying attention), and assessed the situation (there was some blood, but due to the injury being in the very back of his throat and to his determined protest to keep me away from his mouth I couldn't tell how much), I called our wonderful pediatrician's office. The nurse asked me to bring him in.
And then there was a screaming fit over having to put a shirt on. Which probably didn't feel good for his sore throat. I know it didn't feel good for my ears.
He finally calmed down, we made it to his appointment, he made friends with an adorable three-year old girl in the waiting room, shared his crayons with her and told her all about sharks. By the time we saw the doctor he was behaving as if nothing happened. She checked him out, and he's fine.
Who puts a hanger in his mouth? The same kid who makes glasses out of bell pepper slices. This is crazy-town. I mean, really.
