But that's not all. On Sunday night as I was loading up the dishwasher he sneaked a handful of detergent out of the dispenser cup and shoved it right in his mouth. I didn't think much of it until he walked onto the carpet (of course) and vomited. Then returned to the kitchen and vomited again. So Marmot Dad checked the label which of course said "call your doctor immediately," so he spent some quality time chatting with the folks at poison control. The Babe was OK, but I got some good heart-racing exercise while I tried to force 4 oz. of fluids into him.
What else he does: tries to eat rhubarb leaves (poisonous); sucks on bar soap (yucky); climbs on things and fall off (painful); runs onto the ball field in the middle of E's baseball game (annoying); and turns the water on hothothot when he's in the tub (dumb).
I'll save my mom the trouble of posting a comment and write what she would have written: "His grandma is going to come and get him and take care of him because his parents are clearly not!"
Poor little Marmot Babe.