Warning Labels

Call me Mother of the Year.

I'm pondering warning labels these days. I realize they're a common sense measure for parents who, let's face it, don't always use their common sense and must therefore rely on others. Like me.

Peanut has had his fill of warning labels. I've been pointing out that we do not need to investigate the cleaning supplies, the knives, or (more recently) the very pretty, very breakable china. After this week, however, I'm wondering where Peanut's warning label is.

It all started last weekend, at a friend's party. She decided that I could leave my child with her. After a phone call an hour later requesting my presence "to sit on my child", I decided I should really know better. Apparently Peanut was unclear about why the moonbounce was not an appropriate venue for human bowling. Into older kids.

Fast forward to last night. Peanut and Boomer were playing in the backyard, and the tricycle was introduced. There was, as usual, much rejoicing. Peanut's into pedaling hell-for-leather into the brick wall and announcing that he's okay as soon as the wall stops him. I'm not crazy about this game, but Boomer has assured me that it's a guy thing and Peanut will survive. Naturally, as soon as our backs were turned, Peanut decides to attempt to avoid the wall and ends up hitting his hand on it, scraping three fingers. No permanent damage, but it did require medicinal kisses and sippy cup to make it all better. Dinner helped as well.

It's not only objects that need warning labels. I'm seriously considering posting one on Peanut's forehead for all to see:

WARNING: Do not leave child unattended.

Call me Mother of the Year.