Rite of Passage

It was cold outside today, below zero to be more precise. And I had errands to run in town, lots of errands. I bundled up the kids and tackled the to do list, checking off recycling, library, order DQ cakes (taking the easy route for the kids' birthday this year), groceries, hair cut for Ava....and I'm sure there was something else. We were in town for...ever.

At our last stop, I didn't take the time to put the gloves back on the kids. The vehicle was warm and we were parked close....closer than what our garage is to our house at home.

Once at home, I tell the kids to head right to the house and I'll be behind them with a wagon load of groceries (I know, it sounds pathetic. An attached garage is in the plans and will eventually be worked into the budget, but that's still a few years away, so I'm not even thinking about it). Ava runs back to me crying that her hands are cold. I'm not sure where the gloves are and they are so annoying to try to put on that I just pull her coat over her hands when I hear Jack crying.......his "something-is-wrong" cry.

I leave the wagon....and Ava (I've learned to prioritize who's crying is most urgent) whose hands are covered by now...and run up to the back door. As I get closer, I wonder why Jack is standing so close to the metal railing on the stairs up to the door. Only a half a step more and I can see that he's got his tongue and lower lip stuck to the railing.

While I stare at him in horror for a few nano-seconds, so many thoughts run threw my mind.

"I don't have time to get a picture of this."
"I am so texting Adam about this one."
"Where is Ava?"
"How did he do this?"
"Remember the kid from elementary school that did this on the playground? He left a chunk of his tongue on that swing post."
"Remember what you heard as the best way to solve this problem. Warm water...."
"Now go get some!"

Within a fraction of second, my mind covered all that ground, I told Jack it was going to be okay and to hold still, and I ran inside.

I threw the bag of library books I was carrying onto the floor and grabbed a dirty measuring cup off the counter filling it with water.

I ran back out the door and poured the water over his tongue. But those little mucus membranes would not release.

I dashed back into the house for more water, tracking snow all over my laminate floors which get VERY slippery when wet.

Glancing down at the white one-cup measuring cup with little chunks of oatmeal on it that I'm filling with water, I'm suddenly struck by the hilarity of it all. I run back outside laughing, slipping on my floor, and dribbling water the whole way.

We get his tongue and lip freed from the railing without leaving any chunks behind, and I calmed everybody inside. All of this drama was nothing a good popsicle couldn't cure

"What happened?" Ava asks, and I try to explain why we don't lick metal things in the winter.

It's never actually happened to me, but for Jack I'm chalking it up as a rite of passage.