Do You Really Wanna Hurt Me?

October 31st, 2005 went down in the family history books as the hallowed eve when I poisoned my husband. This is my first confession of the incident. Rick and I escorted our three children, the Hippy, the Hockey Goalie and Bibleman, along with our two overnight visitors, Darth Vader and the Medieval Princess, for a fun evening of games, candy and prizes at our church’s October Fest. By 9:30 p.m. my peaceful home was calling to me.

As we herded our flock toward the van, my husband decided it was the perfect time to announce that he and my brother had plans to go to a late show since he had movie passes that expired that night. I wasn’t impressed, to say the least. To his credit, Rick did help deposit all five kids in the van and sent me on my way. After asking for any and all miniature Almond Joy candy bars, I focused on remaining positive.

Any drill sergeant would have been proud of me that night: “All candy on the kitchen counter. Costumes off. Jammies on. Teeth brushed for five minutes.” With four kids finally in bed, I set Bibleman up on our bathroom counter to look at a bloody toe. Two weeks previously, he had crashed his bike, slammed his big toe and the nail fell off. The pediatrician had given me instructions to rinse it with a solution of 50/50 hydrogen peroxide and water. Conveniently, there was a clear plastic bottle in the bathroom with only three ounces of water, so I doubled it with hydrogen peroxide. The toe was washed, medicated, bandaged and as soon as Bibleman was tucked in, I fell into bed exhausted.

At 2:09 a.m. I was shaken awake by my husband’s hands and booming, panicky voice, “Linda, what was in my water bottle next to the sink?” Oh no! “Hydrogen peroxide,” I groggily answered. He grabbed the peroxide bottle and loudly read, “If ingested call the Poison Control Center immediately.” He shot back, “Where is the number for Poison Control?” Now, I am not super sympathetic when I am fully awake. I am on the verge of completely unconcerned when I am half asleep. My eyes still closed, I offered, “In the phone book under P,” and drifted back to sleep.

When I awoke the next morning, I glanced over in our bed to see my husband’s back facing me and the entire hydrogen peroxide nightmare resurfaced. His breathing was undetectable. Was he dead? I wondered… and gave him a little shove with my foot. Praise be to God, Rick groaned and pulled the covers up to his neck. Guilt tried to consume me, but a twinge of “serves him right” was just under the surface due to being sent home with five candy-laden children while he went movie viewing. I felt partially vindicated because my poisoning was not premeditated. Thankfully, Rick was fine.

Rick inquired of the children at the breakfast table, “Did your mother tell you she tried to poison me last night?” After a recap of the 2:09 a.m. fiasco the kids threw their heads back and belly laughed, completely shriveling Rick’s pity party to nothingness. I came so close to making it through my apology without grinning, “I’m sorry I almost poisoned you.” Next time Rick better think twice before crossing my inner mad scientist.

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4 Responses to “Do You Really Wanna Hurt Me?”

  1. Angela C Says:

    Welcome to the blogasphere! Enjoy. Keep the stories coming. It’s not every day you poison your husband.

  2. pluckymama Says:

    Sooooo funny! I love how you write.

  3. LaVonna Says:

    Tell Rick he can move in here and he can have a pity party with Richard. Our kids might just crack up, too!

  4. Kellie Says:

    Hilarious! Serves him right!!! :)

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