It's Not Christmas If Someone Doesn't Get Hurt.

In my family, Christmas day is one for celebrating and sending people to the emergency room.  Overzealous wrestling matches with cousins and misfired new toys have landed more than one of us at the local hospital getting stitches or a cast.

My little boy is trying his darndest to continue this holiday tradition.  Yesterday we had two near emergency room situations.  

The first happened right under our noses.  While we were no more than five feet from the little rascal he snuck around the baby gate and decided to head down the stairs.  When we finally noticed, he was face down on the second stair trying to inch his way to the third.  The dog, who keeps his room and board current with feats such as this, was standing in front of him blocking the next step.

After this ninja move, we firmly resolved to install a fence for the pool before we move back  into our house.

The second adventure occurred earlier in the day, but I didn't learn of it until last night.

I was making a delicious Breakfast for Dinner, a new favorite because it is relatively easy to make with a screaming boy digging his little hands into my legs and trying to climb them like he's a damn bear after honey, and I said, "I keep forgetting to get Pam!  We're almost out of it."

My super helpful husband said, "Oh no, we have some," and grabbed a can of Easy Off oven cleaner.  

I laughed and said, "That's oven cleaner."  

His face fell and I knew.  

"You've used it to cook, haven't you?"

"It says EASY OFF!" he shot back, "and it looks like Pam!"  

"Have you used it to make his food?" I asked pointing to the attachment on my legs.  

My horrified husband, now realizing what he'd done stared back at me and said, "Yeah.  I used it for his eggs this morning."

The morning of the Easy Off incident was one that I spent sleeping in with a sore throat.

"OMG," I said, realizing how guilty my husband felt and trying to be as delicate as I know how, "this stuff is toxic."

"He's fine, right?" my husband asked, "I mean, he's pooping and everything so he must be fine."

All I could manage was, "I'm sure he's fine," as I covertly looked for the poison control number on the can.  Turns out, there isn't one, just a dire warning to keep the bottle away from children.  

Blatantly missing is the warning about husbands.

Merry Christmas to all!  May you find joy in making old traditions new!