Danger Mom and the Heart-Attack Five

I think I swallowed my heart about a dozen times this week. The following stories are taken from the real-life adventures of Danger Mom and the Heart-Attack Five (aka me and my family):

***
The Meatballs of Danger

My oldest son opens the front door to see if daddy is still mowing the lawn, and accidentally lets my youngest son, who is 2, out the door. (Oh, and he neglects to tell me that his little brother has just left the premises because he is afraid I'll get "mad" because I told him not to open the door in the first place, so instead he just quietly shuts the door and hopes this problem will go away on its own.) I am in the kitchen frying up meatballs during all of this. Ten mins later, I decide to truck it to the loo, and I walk by the living room and something is funny.

Can't put my finger on it...something is wierd here...something is missing...no, everything is fine, there's my oldest son and my daughter, playing in the livingroom...ummm, headcount...that's one, two...umm...I don't think two is enough. I think I have three kids...OMG...I DO have three kids! And, there are only TWO kids here...ARGH!

So I run frantically through the house, looking for the missing kid, searching closets and cupboards and under beds, and this is when my oldest son volunteers that he went OUTSIDE. I fly outside screaming my block off, (ready to start a neighborhood search) and to the backyard where my husband is mowing the lawn. And there is my son, playing on the playset. And his father didn't even know he was there b/c we have a huge yard, and what with the lawnmower noise, etc. Thank God the backyard gate had been open, or who knows where my little boy would have ended up, looking for a place to play.

***

The Bus of Doom

Leaving work at 9pm after the evening shift, I am driving home, same route I always take.

Dum de dum...nothing on the radio, stupid radio stations...oh look, there's that house that's for sale that I like...maybe I'll buy it when I win the big one...oh here's the light, turning red, better stop...yep, stopping would be good...ummm...stop car...BRAKE please...BRAKES....NO BRAKES! BRAKE DAMMIT!!!!! ARGH CAN'T STOP, GONNA DIE, SHOULDA-GOT-THAT-DAMN-LIFE-INSURANCE-BECAUSE-THERE'S-A-CITY-BUS-WITH-MY-NAME-ON-IT!

I manage to stop, both feet on the brake, in the MIDDLE of the intersection. The big bus, thankfully, beat me through. I get home, (very slowly), shaking in my sneakers, and tell my husband what happened. He thoughtfully nods and hugs me and says "come to think of it, the brakes were acting a bit funny the last coupla days". Needless to say, our car is currently in the shop.

***

The Parking Lot of Disaster

Loading kids again, long tiring shopping trip, can't wait to get home, OH PLEASE stop wriggling you little monsters so I can buckle you in...good, done, one, two, three in, off we go -SLAM- OH THAT FRIGGIN HURT! ARGH! Smashed my head on the roof of the van...look at all the pretty little birdies flying around my head...ha ha ha...hey what's that screaming...oh, my son's finger is stuck in the clothing hanging thingy...hold on honey...mommy is experiencing slurred speech and blurred vision...just a mild concussion, really...must free child...must stop giggling...hey why is someone rifling through the box of Little Debbie Snack Cakes? Didn't I just buckle you in, you little escape artist? Hey, where am I, what was I doing? Oh yeah, freeing screaming child...no no no, dizzy euphoria is evolving into ringing pain...where's the friggin Advil?

(I did eventually get everyone settled and happy using my daughter's idea of cracking open the Snack Cakes. It was a blissfully quiet and tasty, ride home.)