Lets take it in reverse chronological order, shall we?
We used to have the most amazing neighbors. They still are amazing, they're just not neighbors. About a year ago, they moved 40 minutes away. We've kept in good touch, and this Saturday we went to their house for dinner, armed with dessert and a bottle of wine.
Between their three boys and our two boys, it was a houseful of boys. It shows how far I've come as a parent that I basically sent the kids to the basement and then sat in the kitchen enjoying wine, good food, and conversation. I occasionally would check on the kids, but lets be honest, it's probably best that I didn't always see what they were doing. As long as no one gets hurt.
But then someone got hurt.
I heard the cries: Mommy!!!!!!!!
I ran downstairs to find Braden crying hysterically and clutching his foot. I held him and told him it would be fine, that he should shake it off, but then he started limping. I still thought maybe he was milking it, and was just exhausted, so soon after that we put the kids in the car and headed home.
Call me mother of the year, the next morning he was still limping. Which meant a trip to the ER. My husband conveniently had work to do (ahem), so I took him. There was no wait, and it still took us 1.5 hours to get in and out. The highlight of the morning was after Braden had his x-ray done, and the tech offered to let him look at the pictures.
These are the pictures of the bones in your feet, see? She kindly held him up.
The look on his face was one of complete disbelief and awe. It then turned to fear.
Why do I have bones in my feet???
Call me mother of the year once again, I guess I have never really explained to Braden the concept of bones. For the remainder of the day, he continuously asked if backpacks had bones, if cars had bones, etc. etc.
Not broken. Just a sprain. He's still limping.
Casey got a fever on Wednesday. No big deal. I pumped him with motrin, kept him home from school on Thursday, and went about normal life.
When fevers happen, my kids usually don't eat a lot. Hell, they don't eat a lot ever. But on Thursday night, I realized that Casey hadn't really eaten. AT ALL. No breakfast, no lunch, no milk, nada. I kind of started to freak out. That night for dinner, I offered him anything. Everything. M&Ms, ice cream, juice, rice, olives, yogurt, I DON'T CARE JUST EAT SOMETHING. It became a raging battle, ending with me taking syringes of water and forcing them down his throat so that he wouldn't get too dehydrated. The same thing happened on Friday, only by Friday he was constipated presumably from having had nothing to eat, so instead of just water I literally started forcing mushed up blueberries down his throat whilst he screamed bloody murder.
I fear that I have permanently attached a negative connotation to eating and mealtime that will last long beyond this spout of illness, but that is neither here nor there.
By Saturday morning, after a sleepless night, I decided it was time to go to the doctor. Mind you, his fever was gone by then, but he still wasn't really eating and what if it was strep throat and even if he'd gotten over the strep throat isn't there some horrible illness you can get from untreated strep throat and if I didn't take him to the doctor I would forever regret that decision and live with debilitating guilty for the rest of my days.
I took him to the doctor, where we were relegated to wait in the sick waiting room. As an aside, I am grateful for the sick waiting room. When my child is well. When my child is sick, do I really have to go in there with other sick kids? With tainted, snot covered, sick infested toys? He's already sick for crying out loud, he doesn't need a stomach virus or roseola or explosive diarrhea on top of everything else. I don't have an alternative solution to the sick waiting room, by the way. For now, I just follow two feet behind him reapplying hand sanitizer every few steps.
He was fine. No strep. No ear infection. No fever anymore. Oh, but they did notice he had a heart murmur, which somehow no one had ever heard before, which they say is really nothing to worry about. Wonderful, of course I won't worry. No, not at all.
Friday - Me
It snowed on Thursday. Barely an inch, but still. There was some white stuff. So I figured if I was sending Braden to school, I should send him in snow boots.
I went to his closet to get some snow boots, when I realized that shit, he doesn't have any snow boots. Again, call me mother of the year. I am thinking this sentiment when I slam his closet door shut ON MY FINGER.
Holy hell it hurt. Really bad. As I was cursing and kneeling down and bouncing as one does with an acute injury, I looked at my finger and saw it turning red. Then purple. Then swelling. Then forming the WORLD'S BIGGEST BLOOD BLISTER I HAD EVER SEEN. It was almost slow motion watching it form, and then I felt the color drain from my face, and I started feeling dizzy, and I called my husband who practically carried me to the couch.
I know I sound like a big baby, but can you blame me? It looked like this:
|I'm not flipping you all the bird. It just happens to be my middle finger. Apropos.|
Just an ordinary weekend.