"I need more pads, Dad." reported Kid #2. I'd purchased a package of "Stayfree ultra-light pads" some time ago, figuring that it would be smarter to have them on hand when she began to need them ("Menarche").
Anyway, apparently they are all gone. The last time she declined to use a pad I threatened to force her to scrub her own underwear. At first I was surprised and thought... "Is that menstrual blood?" and hit the stain with some 3% hydrogen peroxide... sure enough, it foamed. (Insert caricature of weak-kneed father going "I am so not ready for this" here). Anyway, she got the message and has, I gather, been using the pads.
So I bought another package of the same kind and a second package for "overnight" use. I don't want to think about it. These pads both have "wings" so I'm guessing they can fly? Kind of unclear on the wing-thing, too.
Ah, fatherhood. Is this not splendid? Since the former Mrs. Wagner psychoed out of the scene, I've been trying to appear fearless no matter how weird or frightening the situation becomes. Not menstruation, but rather the late-night waves of fear and the what-ifs. What if, what if, what if.
You can only worry so much. I hit a kind of maximum-worry level and then have no choice but to back off a few turns. Sometimes I even enjoy myself. Kid #1 has a couple more years until he reaches the age of 18, Kid #2 has another six years. Kids grow up. Parents age and die. It's just how it goes. Nothing can be done about either reality. So don't worry so much, enjoy the ride as best you can.
This is the first full week of the new school year. Kid #1 was whining about how much homework he had all weekend, then finished it all in about an hour on Sunday night. I keep coaxing him to do his homework as soon as he gets his claws on it, NOT to let it fester and cloud his weekends. That has yet to sink in.
So I figure I'm doing all I can to slowly bend him in the right direction. And I keep hoping that my semi-patient insistence that Kid #2 brushes her teeth regularly. As I was attacking her with a wet washcloth this morning (to hear her tell the tale) I asked if she'd brushed her teeth and she insisted that she had. Then I felt the bristles on her bone-dry toothbrush and busted her. Repeat as necessary, I suppose. This is not a one-day project by any means.