The Summer of ER Visits

Lest you think I’ve been building my portfolio for the Mom of the Year contest, here’s what’s REALLY been happening in the BoyMommy household.

I had hoped that when Large broke his foot during the first week of summer “vacation” that that would be our only trip to Patient First. 

You know where this is headed, right?

We were heading to the car after a lovely afternoon at the movies and an early dinner.  (Truth be told, we were heading home because my boys were acting like spider monkeys who have been trapped in a cardboard box, so I told them I had had enough and we were going home and going straight to bed.  At 6:30.)  Small was running down the sidewalk at a local shopping center and apparently got a little overzealous.  As soon as I said, “slow down, Chief!” he fell head first into the leg of a metal bench. 

So much for early bed time and an early glass of wine.

I am generally pretty calm in situations that require emergency services, but as any mom will tell you, head injuries, no matter how minor, are often accompanied by a lot of blood.  Picture Carrie.  Spending the night on Elm Street.  With the guy from the Saw movies. 

Small sat up with a stunned look on his face, and within seconds he began to cry.  His head was bleeding profusely, so I picked him up and instructed Medium and Large to run ahead; there was a little mom & pop restaurant near where we had parked, so I told them to get ice and napkins.  All the while they were frantically asking me for reassurance that Small would be okay. 

Any other time they’re beating the crap out of each other, banging each others’ heads into the wall, and daring each other to see how far they can jump from the top bunk bed, but I guess the sight of blood makes them feel all lovey-dovey.

I hauled @ss over to the Patient First, praying that no one would recognize the Swagger Wagon and judge my erraticer than usual driving.  The staff took us back to the room immediately, and they began cleaning him up.  At this point he had blood all down his face, in his hair, and on his clothes.  He was a trooper, and it pained me to watch him flex his feet and toes back and forth, back and forth, in order to calm himself in lieu of crying. 

You can always tell how serious the injury is by judging the reaction you get from the nurses, so I knew that Small’s wound was deeper than I had thought originally.  The doctor came in to assess it . . .  and promptly sent us to the Emergency Room at the hospital. 

The hospital staff was great (shout out to Inova Loudoun, woot-woot!) but I was a little worried when the representative from “Family Life" came to chat. 

Always calm when faced with tension, I blurted “Oh my god!  You’re here to make sure I’m not an unfit mother!”  She reassured me that she was only there to make sure Small was comfortable and that I didn't have any questions, but then she asked if we’d been to the ER before. 

Again with the verbal vomit:  “Yes!  A year ago when he split his lip open and he had to have stitches and we had to have the plastic surgeon and he was so brave!” 

“These things happen,” she chuckled.  “He’s three years old.” 

Whew.  

Ten stitches later, he’s healing nicely, and I’m trying to repeat her mantra that “these things happen,” especially when you have boys.  Just for safe measure, when Small stands on the coffee table pretending to be a caped crusader, I remind him that “if we go back to the ER again, they’re not gonna let you come home with me!”  

Dear Kids, Here's How the Rest of Summer is Gonna Go Down. . .

Dear Offspring,

            Hey there!  It’s Mommy.  Listen, we still have about seven weeks left of summer “vacation” so I thought I’d give you a few tips on how we can avoid Mommy’s Annoyed I-Have-a-Headache-Why-Don’t-You-Listen-You-Kids-Are-Driving-Me-Crazy Face.  You know the one.

1.  When my face gets red and I start getting persweaty and using language that is, um, less than ladylike, it’s time for you to go to your room.  You don’t need a reason.  Just go.

2.  Please don’t wear your dirty, dusty baseball cleats into the living room and then sigh loudly and turn the tv volume up to 57 because you can’t hear over the sound of the dust buster.

3.  You’re bored?  Do I look like Julie, your Cruise Director?

4.  At this point I don’t care if he hit you, where he hit you, why he hit you, or how hard he hit you.  If you’re not bleeding, I don’t want to hear about it.  Work it out.

5.  Yes, I know I let you eat Goldfish for breakfast the other day, but when the Pediatrician asks you if you eat your veggies, just nod and say “yes.”

6.  Don’t ask me to take you to play tennis at 2:00 pm on the hottest day of the year to date.  The answer is a big fat negatory.

7.  Please don’t tell the neighbor mommy that I said you weren’t allowed to play outside because it’s too hot and that you need to play inside her house. 

8.  Want to know why you’re crying in the middle of the afternoon?  You’re overly tired.  Go to bed when I tell you, already.  You think I don’t know you’re playing your DS until all hours of the morning?

9.  When the refrigerator is stocked with milk, cheese, yogurt, and fresh fruit, being out of potato chips does not constitute having “nothing to eat in this house!”

10.  Don’t act like I just asked you to donate a body part when I request that you unload the dishwasher.  Perhaps if you didn’t use a different cup for every sip of water you take we wouldn’t have to run the dishwasher as often.

If you take each of the above under advisement, we will have a much more peaceful rest-of-the-summer.  It’s all about self-preservation.  Your choice.

Love you!

XOXO

Mommy

Men's Marriage Manual: Chapter 1

This week will mark our 14th wedding anniversary, and we will have been together for 19.  One would think that with age and duration comes wisdom.  Currently I am not speaking to Hubby because he said one of the following to me this weekend.  I'm sure he's considering this lull in conversation as a little nagging vacation, but alas, I'm stewing.  In the interest of helping him survive another year without me smothering him with a pillow or poisoning his corn flakes (or both, if I really want to speed things along,) I offer 

Things You Should NOT Say If You Value Your Life, Your Sleeping Arrangements, or Your Front Teeth: 

       

      1.  Is that what you’re wearing? / Is that how you’re going to wear your hair? / Or any version thereof.  You'd think by this point one of you fellas would have written a marriage manual and this would have been Chapter 1.

2.  Do not tell me you’ll be home at 7 and then call me from the office at 6:55 to tell me you’re running a little late.  You are likely to arrive home (finally) and find the neighborhood kids roasting marshmallows in a bonfire made completely of your business suits.

3.  What’s for dinner?  Seriously.  We’ve been together almost 20 years and I have not ONCE made a meal that caused you to celebrate my skills in the kitchen.  I don’t like to cook.  I’m not good at it.  It takes longer to make it than it does to eat it.  Invest in stock in the Chef Boyardee company and leave me alone.

4.  My mom never let the clothes pile up like this.  Well then perhaps you should take your laundry to her.

5.  Didn’t you just get your nails done/ hair done/ brows waxed?  It’s called maintenance.  Don’t ask how the magic happens . . . just appreciate the end result.

6.  What do you need to get at Target?  Nothing.  Target is my happy place.  I like to go to there.

7.  You don’t need ice cream.  No one NEEDS ice cream, but the fact that you are pointing out that I, in particular, do not NEED ice cream means that I’m now considering ordering two ice creams. 

8.  What’s the over / under on when these clothes are going to be put away?  On a completely unrelated topic, please note that Jimmy Hoffa’s body has YET to be found.  Maybe he aska too many aquestions.

9.  Why is the house always such a mess when I get home?  You should have considered this question about 9 months before I delivered each of your children.

10.  When’s the last time you went to the gym?  1996.  The answer is 1996.

Waiter! More Wine! And Make it Snappy!

Hello, lover.

Please enjoy these hypothetical instructions for getting your waiter to keep filling your glass.  Hypothetical, with pictures.  Purely coincidental.

1.  Show up at the restaurant with two of your three children right at 5:30 PM, otherwise known as the witching hour.  The only other people in the restaurant are those with small children and the elderly, who are enjoying the Early Bird Special.

2.  Wear the shirt that got blood on it when Small had a bloody nose at 9 AM.  Don't bother changing the shirt before you go out, because, who are you kidding, you know you’re just going to spill on it anyway.

3.  Greet the hostess with a smile that shows off that beads-of-sweat mustache.

 

Dude.  No feet where we eat.

4.  Request two children’s menus while pointing to your offspring, who both dressed themselves.  Small is sporting sweatpants that are on backwards so that the tie and the pockets are in the back, and Medium is representin’ with a black and white tie dye school logo shirt and green/navy/white plaid shorts.  (If he were wearing black socks and sandals he could easily retire to Florida.)

 5.  Once seated, wipe the hair that is matted to your forehead out of your eyes with your forearm so that you can peruse the menu. 

6.  When the waiter arrives, order two kids’ milks and a glass of wine.  When he asks which wine you would like, tell him, “whatever.  Just bring it.  It’s been one of those days.”

7.  Praise the waiter with the adulation normally reserved for 

Please don't make me eat another bite
of this delicious chocolatey goodness.

tween girls and their boy bands when he brings you a FULL glass o’ wine, otherwise known as a healthy pour.  Healthy, indeed.

8.  Allow the children to order chocolate chip pancakes for dinner and a giant chocolate muffin for dessert, because . . . f*ck it.  

9.  Enter the Men’s Room cautiously when Medium returns to the table to solicit help and report that “Small is laying on the floor naked and rolling around and stuff.”

 10.  At this point, the waiter will return to your table with the entire bottle of wine and pour it directly into your glass as if it were Diet Coke.  Yes, please.

Call Me When September Gets Here

The boys have been out of school for summer “vacation” for 10 days now, including weekends. 

This is what we have done so far:

1.  Medium gave the neighbor kid a black eye.  They accidentally bumped heads the day school got out and Medium’s best buddy got a black eye, which he found pretty impressive.  The ladies love battle scars, ya know.

2.  Small got a bloody nose at the church picnic.  He and his brothers were on the playground on the other side of the building, so by the time he ran around to where we were talking to other grow-ups, blood was gushing out of his nose and onto his teeth, where he would wipe it with his bare arm and then onto his shirt.  This is why I can’t dress them in nice things.

3.  Large broke his foot.  It was a freak playground accident where he bent his toes back and broke 2 bones on the top of his foot.  Currently he is sporting some fancy footwear that he describes as "grandma."  If ever I thought I was not his waitress/butler/short-order cook, I sure as hell am all those things now.

4.  Small put potpourri in the toilet.  I know this because I saw the potpourri floating on top, so I stuck my hand in the bowl and pulled it out.  The toilet was still clogged though, which leads me to believe that perhaps he had put other inappropriate things in the toilet as well.  We had to direct guests to use a different bathroom because apparently a non-functioning toilet does not deter little boys from using it when nature calls.  As a side note, you’d think that the potpourri would have made this whole adventure smell much better than it did.

yes, it's white.

5.  Small drew on the carpet.  The white carpet.  With blue sharpie.  I certainly don’t mean to stifle his creativity, but I prefer art projects that don’t require that I scrub vigorously with a toothbrush once they’re complete.

Ten days down; 81 more to go.