The Girl Fell in the Pond

On Monday, the eve of the Feast of St. Nicholas, I was busily baking sheets and sheets of these cookies. It was already afternoon and I was behind schedule and feeling a bit harried. Chris had a gap in his work schedule, so valiantly offered to take the kids to play with the boat in the pond. I jumped at the chance.

The kids had a lot of fun.

At four o'clock, I received a phone call from Chris. There was a pause on the line and he said, "The girl fell in the pond."

I took a deep breath. My closest friends (and now my readers) know that I am phobic of water. It takes everything in me to tolerate Chris taking the children to any body of water.

"Is she okay?"

"Yes. The boy fell in too."

It turns out that Mary fell in the pond from the top of her head to the bottom of her feet, face-first. Then John leapt in to try to save his sister. Then Daddy leapt in to save them both (wearing his new shoes, with their soft fabric lining--how will I wash them?). (He was right there the whole time, literally one foot away from the children.)

"I think you should start the bath tub running now. We're on our way home. We stink."

I asked him to strip the kids' clothing off and leave it in the garage and I hung up. I thanked the children's Guardian Angels. Then whatever part of my Mother Self that is wise thought, 'I should call in a pizza order this very minute since I'm still trying to finish these cookies (which are covering every square inch of my counter space) and I haven't even started dinner.'

Then my Pride Self responded, 'Oh no, you can do it all. You can finish the cookies, bathe the children, and make a fresh dinner. Don't order a pizza.'

So, I did not.

Have I mentioned that the baby had been crying since two o'clock when she woke from her afternoon nap? She had been nursed, changed, held, and nothing made her happy. So this whole time, imagine a baby crying in the background.

I took the crying baby upstairs and got her set up with toys in the girls' bedroom, then I gated her in so I could run the bath right around the corner.

The children arrived home, walking up the stairs, covered in stinky pond water. John was laughing with the excitement of it all and Mary began crying again as she told the dramatic events. I gave them a good sudsing. The baby was by now screaming her head off at the baby gate but Chris couldn't help because he had to rush onto his next conference call.

This is when I realized I really should have ordered that pizza.

It was 4:45 when I had the kids clean and dressed. Chris got off his call and asked what he could do to help. I shouted down the stairs to him: "We're having leftovers! Serve them any food you can find! I don't care if it's peanut butter."

Then I gave attention to Margaret, who fell deeply asleep for what I thought was a nap but turned out to be bedtime for the night! And the baby slept in till 6:15--thirteen and a half hours!

So, that is the tale of how the girl fell in the pond on St. Nicholas Eve and lived to tell about it even though she had to eat leftovers for dinner.