Will's youngest children were here over the weekend. This morning, when both boys were playing outside and Will was cutting grass, I discovered someone had gotten into my syringes. The protective plastic orange covers lay on the coffee table.
I got Will immediately. I was so upset I couldn't hardly talk about I thought we were about to have a dead little boy. Or two, if they thought it was fun to stick each other with insulin.
As it turns out, the youngest, age 6, got the syringe out, filled it with water, then used it as a water gun to squirt his brother's pillow. He knew that it was wrong, he knows a.) don't touch if it's not yours, and b.) this is medicine, not a toy. He also knows not to play with water in the house and he certainly knows not to mess with his brother's stuff.
Interrogations, a beating, and a time-out ensued. And then I cancelled the afternoon fishing trip. And I was still upset because had I not found the covers, I wouldn't have ever known he got it. He might have gotten more than one needle, I don't know. I don't know if he understands how serious this is. I don't know how much I should be angry. I don't know if it was done out of carelessness or out the allure of getting into something forbidden. I don't know if I should sit down and try to explain diabetes or if I should relocate needles or if the boys can no longer even for a second be unsupervised or all three. I don't know if my emotions are making me over-react or if I am justified in having a screaming fit because an air bubble in the vein will most assuredly kill you.
I finally told Will to take the boys home. I wasn't feeling any better about any of it. I don't want to stay mad all day but I don't want them to think it's no big deal. I don't want to do something fun with them because I don't want them to think this sort of thing gets rewarded. Will has apologized a hundred times and I don't want to be angry at him, but on the other hand, neither of us were watching the kids. We were sleeping in and they were supposed to be watching a movie. I'm angry at myself for not putting up something dangerous and motherfucker, that little brat is supposed to know better.
And I don't know that the situation could have been avoided. If he was bound and determined to have a little 'water gun' then putting syringes under lock and key might have slowed him down but not stopped him. Of course, it's not full paranoia until you've gone through every horrid scenario at least twice so now I'm questioning just how safe are my guns, my knives, my alcohol, and my car keys because I'm sure next the other child will run over somebody with my truck. No doubt he'll be playing with gasoline and firecrackers when he does it.