A couple of months ago I went out
drinking with to dinner with Lex’s former kindergarten/first grade teacher, and another friend, at a restaurant I hadn’t been to since I was slinging pasta myself twelve or so years ago. I saw this guy leaving the restaurant, and even though I only saw him in profile as he was walking away, I knew he was an old boyfriend of mine. I caught up with him in the parking lot and he came in and sat with us while we finished eating. During the course of catching up, he said that he was happy to see I’d let my hair grow long again. Time before the last time I ran into him it was really short. Like this. So, Hi, R, if you are reading this, don’t be shocked the next time you run into me. I’m going to cut my hair off this weekend and send it here. I’ll take some before and after photos. Unless I chicken out.
Yesterday afternoon was evil. I forgot to bring cash when I picked up the boys from school and therefore no one could get their usual Wednesday popsicles sold by the student council. I’m lucky; even though they’ve watched A Bug’s Life seven thousand times the kids haven’t figured out that between the four of them, they could totally take me. I drove them home, where they slammed backpacks and doors and kicked their shoes off extra hard. I needed a moment, so I took five minutes to check my email and take deep breaths.
About two minutes into my five minutes, Nathan started YELLING for me. He frequently gets hurt, mostly because he runs everywhere and thinks nothing of just jumping onto a skateboard with both feet. I went to the hall to find out what was wrong. He was holding his hand up for me to see, but it was too dark. When I turned on the light I saw blood. Lots and lots. I got him to the bathroom, grabbed a clean towel and put pressure on the spot, right between his thumb and first finger, where the blood was coming from. One of my steak knives was on the bathroom counter, and there was a water bottle in the sink. At this point, I thought he’d nearly severed his thumb, because I hadn’t really looked and he seemed like he was going into shock. I said, "Uh. WHAT were you doing with the knife?"
He screamed, "NOTHING!!! I WAS NOT DOING ANYTHING WITH IT!! I DON’T EVEN KNOW HOW IT GOT THERE!!!!"
I looked at the cut, saw that it had more than enough gapiness to need stitches, and asked Lex to bring the phone. John is impossible to get at work, so I called my mom, who came and stayed with the other kids while I took Nate to the emergency room** thereby saving my ass AGAIN.
Turns out that he wanted to cut the top off the water bottle, so he brought it and the knife into the bathroom. Intending to cut a hole in the side of the water bottle, then saw the top off, he stabbed right through the bottle and into his left hand. He lives in a tree (that means he’s lucky) because he missed doing any real, permanent damage.
He was great at the hospital, and we both watched the PA shove the fat back inside his palm with some blunt tweezers after he was done stitching. (3 stitches) The guy was telling Nate that the fat under our skin is what makes us all look different and how cool it is and so on. Then he said, "You know, some people pay good money to have their fat taken out."
"Yeah," Nate said, "liposuction."
That got a laugh.
There was a tiny bit still hanging out and Nate said, "What about that part?" The PA just said, "Oh, we don’t need that," and snipped it off. Nate didn’t even flinch. Granted, he had both the lydicaine gel stuff AND an injection (I almost started crying when he had to get the injection in his cut because he was so brave and trying SO hard to not cry), but I would have guessed that might have set him off.
So he’s home today, grateful he can play Gameboy and pissed that he can’t quite play Game Cube, with this super-cool sock glove I made him to help keep the damn thing clean. Please please please let it not get infected. PLEASE. He’s in SUCH a great mood today that he didn’t fuss when the only bandaid I could find him was Hello Kitty.
**We didn’t even get to see Jesse Jackson!! But we did overhear VERY JUICY gossip about a patient between the nurses and the physician’s assistant who took care of Nate (who, by the way, JUST walked into the room and said, "OH good! The dictionary! I can look up "bastard!"
That’s my boy.
You know, you’re REALLY not making me look forward to my boys getting bigger. I want you to realize that.
(And yes! Cut off your hair! And take pictures! Locks of Love is an awesome cause.)
Stitches, fat being shoved back in…all that stuff brought back memories of my boy! When we were together last weekend, I found myself looking at all his little scars and remembering all the events and hysteria!. Sheesh.
And as for Locks of Love: You are my hero, kid.
That’ll teach you to remember the popsicle money.
When you got to the part about snipping off the little extra fat I actually became a bit light headed! I’m totally out of practice… So glad you have your mom around.
Wait, wait. That made it sound like I’m saying you should blame yourself for the bottle cutting thing because if they’d had popsicles, blah blah blah. Just a little neurotic mom-think. Hmmm. I’m incoherent today!
I’m with Marian, woogy-headed after reading that post. How do you survive it? I could never have been a mom. My heart could not take the stress.
I think you managed the situation very well. Others would not be such a great manager of this emergent situtaion.
Well done !
I once bought my daughter a Swiss Army knife from Switzerland, she tried to carve her name in a tree and almost severed her hand. Or at least that is how deep the cut seemed to me at the time. Reading your post brought back memories of that trip to the ER. I am sure it wont get infected, good thoughts.
You are never without a good story! And good for you for sending in your hair! I’m going to try to grow mine long enough again to do that, too.
Funny, but I also was reminded of the near severing of a [finger] with a swis army knife. Only it was my own. It looked alot worse than it was, though.
My boy is rough so far, but only three. I can only imagine what the future holds.