World's Worst Parents

Yesterday was the parent-teacher group fundraising spring fling at Audrey's elementary school.  It was billed as "epic" although it may have been a stretch to call five bounce houses and an inflatable slide "epic".

Robyn sponsored the inflatable slide (pictured) which was supposed to leave vinyl friction burns on the children in the shape of her logo.

Of course it is April in Phoenix and the daily temperatures are engaged in meteorological foreplay.  They're getting there, but still have some time before full mercurial release.  By noon yesterday it was well over 80 degrees.

The school went to great lengths to re-create the full Disneyland experience, right down to half-hour lines in the scorching mid-day sun.  Max and Audrey were determined to get the full economic advantage from the unlimited-ride wristbands, so standing patiently on line was just part of the "fun".

After an hour of vigorous line-waiting and bouncing, we decided to stand in another 30 minute line for a snow cone.  Robyn asked Max what flavor of snow cone he wanted.  He mumbled something and was wandering around near us in the line.  Robyn asked him again what he wanted but he couldn't form a coherent answer.  She scooped Max up and told me that something was wrong with him.

I don't remember how, but I ended up holding Max and hurriedly walking under a shaded area to find a place to sit.  I asked him how he was feeling, but his head was lolling on my shoulder and his eyeballs were rolling back into his head.  He couldn't speak.  He was completely limp in my arms and his face was a ghostly white.  I fumbled for my phone and tried to call 911, but in my panic I couldn't remember how to use an iPhone.  I threw my phone at Robyn and told her to call 911.  If the crowd of parents around me wasn't paying attention to my situation, they were now.

I sat down in the shade and laid Max in my lap.  I discovered that he had puked while I was holding him.  He still couldn't really speak, but was mostly conscious.  By now the crowd of parents and teachers were in emergency mode.  I was handed a couple of blankets, bags of ice, and water.  An ER doctor, nurse, and EMT all offered assistance.

Robyn was still on the phone with the 911 dispatcher.  Apparently 911 needed the exact address of the school where we were.  She was eventually able to convince the dispatcher that the best location she could provide was the cross streets.

After a few minutes of shade, ice, and cold water, Max started showing signs of improvement.  Time compression made the Phoenix Fire Department's response seem like hours, when in reality it couldn't have been more than a few minutes.   The responding station was just over two miles from the school.

The worst of it was over by the time the firefighters arrived.  Max was deemed fine by the paramedics, but got an ambulance ride to Phoenix Children's Hospital anyway.

Diagnosis: terrible parents.  We let our children run around in the almost-summer heat for well over an hour with no water.  Max was a casualty of heat exhaustion and mild dehydration.

Lessons learned:
1.  Pre-hydrate.  By time time the body experiences signs of thirst, it is already dehydrated.  We should have ensured that the kids had adequate water before and during the carnival.
2.  Take breaks.  Make sure you are scheduling rest breaks in a shady, cool area.  Again, we didn't do this.
3.  Wear a hat.  The cloth serves as barrier against solar energy, helping to prevent your brain from fry-o-lating.   We didn't do this either.

Disclaimer:  Please don't notify CPS, DES, the Salvation Army, or any other uniformed agency that could storm our home and take our children.  The dirty looks and passive-aggressive, "See, my kid has his own hat and Camelbak to prevent this" sentiments from the other parents are punishment enough (right?).  We are now officially and publicly terrible parents.