Public Service Announcement the Third

Don't drive your car when it is leaking gasoline from the gas tank. Have it towed. Apparently, a spark from the engine could cause an explosion.

I was too busy cursing at the $53 worth of gas that was dripping out onto the pavement to worry about such things, and my mechanic was only about 100 yards away, so I drove. Luckily, I did not combust.

No verdict on the car yet this morning......

Public Service Announcement the Second

Make sure your kids (if you have any) know what to do if their cheesy toast causes a toaster oven fire....

Garrick is very independent and self-directed when it comes to food. He is often to be found with his tushy sticking out of the pantry as he scrounges in its depths for some previously overlooked tidbit. He is a master snack-maker and he fixes himself breakfast virtually every morning (usually cinnamon toast or a bowl of cereal). This morning, he decided to place some cheddar cheese slices on his bread and place it under "broil" in the toaster oven.

If I had come downstairs 3 minutes later, he would have been dealing with a toaster fire on his 10-year-old ownsome.

After the smoke had cleared and the batteries had been removed from the smoke detectors, I asked him what he would have done if I hadn't been there. "I don't know." Hmmph. I reviewed the unplugging, the keeping-the-toaster-closed-to-starve-the-fire, and the difference between electrical fires and other kinds of fires. Then I cleaned out the toaster oven and dug out the little baking tray that came with it and put it within easy kid reach.

Then I started a Target list and put a new fire extinguisher at the top of it.

Unnerved

I'm a pretty unflappable person. I have put out small fires without raising my blood pressure, shepherded small children through ER visits and hospital stays with aplomb, and averted a friend's suicide attempt without falling apart. Crisis management should be my middle name -- I keep a pretty cool head and get the job done.

Last night I got flapped.

I'd been in north Philly having dinner with a friend, and started a long highway drive home at about 9pm. Ten minutes after I got on the highway, I became aware of a car hovering in my right-side blind spot, which drives me nuts. I slowed down so he could pass; he stayed level with me. I changed lanes to put a bit of distance between us; he changed lanes also and got right back next to my car. I sped up, he kept pace with unmistakably clear intent.

I changed lanes several times, placing my car in every conceivable type of highway posture, and this car stuck to me like chewing gum.

Now, it wasn't that late, and there were plenty of other vehicles on the road (though it wasn't heavy traffic) -- I didn't feel isolated. But I was seriously unnerved by my inability to shake this clown, while traveling at 75 65 mph to boot. At one point I had glanced over my left shoulder into the other car and it seemed as though the guy in the front passenger seat was holding something up to his window.

I was starting to think about where the police stations are in Philly, whether it would be safer to hop off the highway in an attempt to lose the other car, and the fact that I had left my cell phone on my desk earlier that evening and had no communication at my disposal.

I made one last attempt to lose him by changing lanes, and he immediately sidled back along my right-hand side. By now I was getting pissed, and I turned my head directly to the other car of the first time. As I flipped the driver off while mouthing a very distinct "Fuck you!", I noticed that the driver was holding something up against his window -- it looked like a piece of paper with markings on it, not writing. Almost immediately, he reduced speed and I pulled out ahead, changing lanes and putting a few vehicles between us, but keeping an eye on him in my rear view.

We were approaching a spot where the highway divides, and he pulled over to the left while I stayed to the right. I didn't see him exit, but could no longer find him in my rear view, though I checked all the way home. When I got to my suburban exit, I watched the off ramp behind me for a hundred yards or so, and no cars exited after me. I was rattled, but felt it would be safe to continue on home without first pulling into a well-lighted, heavily-populated area and leaning on my horn until help came.

I am unnerved by the whole thing and the fact that he gave up so quickly when he did -- was it the F.U., or that fact that I had finally looked at him/his piece of paper? -- confuses me. Was he trying to convey a serious message of some kind? (But the paper had no words on it, just some meaningless scribbles and dots.) Was he hoping that I'd be so flustered that I'd pull over, thus making myself vulnerable to carjacking or worse? (Certainly not carjacking; I drive a piece of crap '92 Mazda Protege.) Is he in the grip of a sexual kink that makes it impossible for him to get off until he gets a strange woman to see his magical piece of paper with the secret symbols on it?

What do you think?...

Public Service Announcement

Last night, while the kids were in their rooms reading pre-bedtime and I was flopped out in the master bedroom, Michael was downstairs.

And he choked.

I heard a mild ruckus -- as though a kitchen chair had tipped over -- and thought nothing of it. Then, a thumping and crashing noise traveled up the stairs, and I thought I'd better check it out.

I encountered Michael at the head of the steps, gasping and gulping. He managed to squeeze out the words "can't breathe" but that was all.

Now, Michael has asthma (as, indeed, does every member of our family), and in the past has had strange respiratory reactions to various OTC meds, so I had no idea what was going on -- I assumed he was having a very bad asthma attack. I grabbed him diagonally across the chest and talked him into relaxing and allowing what little air was getting through to get through. When he had recovered a bit more breath, he gasped "Something went down the wrong pipe."

I still wasn't registering what had happened, but he was getting some air in at this point, so I wasn't panicked. I had him lie flat on the bed to relax and he started gasping again. That's when the penny dropped. "Choking? You're choking!" I stood him up again and peered at him more closely; his face was gray.

Being vertical seemed to help pass whatever needed passing, and lots of good coughs and burps later, his color was improved and the crisis was over. He had been having a snack of pear, cheese and crackers, and a chunk of pear had gone to the wrong spot.

Being the wonderful wife that I am, the first thing I did after the crisis had passed was yell at Michael for not using the universal sign for "I'm choking."



Seriously, I'm short, but I'd have found a way to perform Heimlich on him.

I went to tuck the kids in -- our nightly "snuggle time" -- and taught them both the universal sign for choking. I also told them if they ever see anyone who looks like they're having trouble breathing to run and get the nearest adult.

Seriously, we do a great job teaching our kids not to get into cars with strangers, but we don't teach them about how to respond to a choking incident (either as the choker or as an bystander). And I'm guessing it's statistically much more likely that most folks (kids and adults) will have to deal with the latter than the former in the course of their lives.

SO! Teach your kids the universal sign for choking, and make them practice it. Myself, I think I'm going to randomly shout out "Pretend you're choking!" at odd intervals until it becomes second nature (for the kids AND for Michael). If you've got bigger kids or other grownups in your house, make sure they know the Heimlich maneuver, and have them "pretend" practice it from time to time. Muscle memory is a very powerful thing, and a quick response time can mean the difference between life and death.



No joke. My friend Val's ex-husband died after choking on a piece of meat, and now she's raising two kids with no dad. It can happen just that quickly, folks.

Be safe out there.