E.R.

5 Years, 7 Months, 4 days.  

That is how long it took, in spite of the rough-housing that is considered normal in our home, for us to land in the E.R. with a bloody kid.


It is astonishing, really, that it took so long. In those 2044 days my shelves have been used as climbing walls; my living room a dojo; my basement an alternating arena for the Stanley Cup and the World Cup.  My yard has been Gotham City; Metropolis; New York City; and, there, evil villains have been slain by immortal superheroes.

Wrestling matches have been won and lost, as have boxing bouts.  And, my little princes have leapt from the bed to the bean bag, over a bedroom-sized, dragon filled swamp.   My stairs, with help of a quilt, have become the world's fastest luge, and each and every bed in this house is, apparently, a trampoline. My sons have turned games of tag into tackle tag, games of hide-n-seek into wrestling matches, and, somehow, heads and bodies land, crashingly, on walls and floors even from a seated position.

In addition to the (temporary) tattoos and stamps that adorn the boys bodies, there's a scattering of black and blue bruises. None of which the boys can recall how they got. 

So, yes, I do feel a mild sense of accomplishment, pride, LUCK, that it took over five rotations around the sun before staples were needed to seal a 2 inch gap in Turner's head.  Sigh!  The good news is, it was just staples in the back of the head.  No obvious scars, no casts needing to be signed, no plastic surgeon required. 

What Happened?  It's silly, really, any of what is listed above should have, could have, caused much worse injury.  The boys were chasing each other around the circle of kitchen, living room, dining room, as they do every day.  They were laughing.  Turner slipped on some water in front of the fridge and hit the wall with his feet.  This itself was not harmful, at all, and he was still laughing.  But, when he hit the wall, the picture hanging on it fell off and the corner of the frame landed, squarely, on the back of his head slashing it an inch wide.  Lots of blood, fewer cries, and a shocked mommy had us in a moment of disarray.  Todd handled the blood and Turner calmed down.  I took him to St. Mary's, where he managed to charm the nurses and the doctors and not even flinch as they stapled his head.


But, still, I suppose they would be safest encased in bubble wrap.   If only they would sit still long enough to get swaddled.  Hell, perhaps that would protect my walls, as well.