Friday, April 10, 2009

What did *I* do over Spring Break? Lemme TELL ya ...

Right. Is Thursday over?  Can I come out now?

*whew* What a day.

What a week!

It's been Spring Break here and we all here at The Burrow have been trying our best to relax.

NOT happenin'!

First, I decided to take advantage of the break and test Fiver's readiness for toilet learning.  He's doing surprisingly well, but, like anything, it has to be, well ... learned. Plus wee willies tend to repose at a barely acute angle.  It's like living with a tiny, fast, and highly mobile, fire hose.

Second, Tuesday was The Human Crash Test Dummy's birthday. Daddy waited till the last second to get gifts and a balloon (that day!), and I was stuck at home baking and decorating the cake and dealing with the tow truck guy, twice. (*grits teeth* cuz lovely, lovely FIL just farkin' HAD to move the boat and the car out of his yard THAT farkin' day - but that's another blog post.)

ANYway, I finally got the cake done, got the gifts wrapped, and the party and gorging went off without a hitch. (I'll post cake pics later.)

Wednesday was comic day, so, again, Bodog was gone for a long stretch. All of the kids seemed to suddenly not feel well, they all were sniffly, snotty, red-faced, and feverish.  Super.

Then came yesterday.

Everyone, including Bodog and omitting myself and THCTD (who is easily has the best immune system of all of mine), was miserable. Sore throtes, high fevers, rashes.

Wait ... did she say "rashes"?

Yes.  Yes, I farkin' did.

Remember Boy's bout with Scarlet Fever?

Well, apparently, it's worked its way back around and is visiting a few more of the siblings. w00t.

So, we needed feed, we needed groceries, and we needed meds. I rang the best pediatrician's office on the planet (Sandhills Pediatrics in Columbia SC) and spoke with our lovely Dr. Clemson's lovely Nurse Cheerful who called in scripts because she RAWKS.

(Incidentally, in case you were curious, my plans for the holiday [for myself] were - since the rest of the family would be sleeping late each morning - to get an arseload of work done. Get my webpages up, maybe actually work on my stores. Plus do some cleaning. Maybe work out in the barnyard.

*pauses to roll about helplessly on the floor, laughing*

Yeah.  Right.  All THAT happened.


So, it's Thursday, I'm sat at the computer, trying to do some coding whilst everyone else has a nice long snooze - including Bodog, who's snoring loudly on the couch right next to my desk (I really, really need some noise cancelling headphones. Really.) - and eyeballing the clock because I don't want to be out the whole rest of the damned day at the bloody buggery Wal-Mart when there's a thousand things that want doing around the hou--

... and I hear a crash.

Well, crashes are not uncommon, even during naptime (The bubs are not required to actually sleep. They simply must be quiet and in their rooms for the allotted time period.), so I turn around, and Boy strolls into the family room.

"Hey, Momma?"

(Why do they all do this? If I'm staring right at you, then I must be paying attention. Don't start each convo with "Hey, Momma?")

"I think Fiver might have hurt himself."

"Yeah?" (I listen for weeping but hear none.) "What part did he hurt?"

(Another 'in case you are curious' note here. We try to teach our kids to not overreact to any situation, that the key to dealing with emergencies or crises is to remain calm. You can't deal with stuff if you are crying, panicked, irrational, crazy. Just settle down and do what needs to be done. I abhore people - especially women - who weep, wring their hands, and freak out over things, expecting someone else to deal with it. You are NOT doing anyone any good and the whole "I'm so helpless and don't know what to do" victim mindset is STUPID.  My children will not learn this.)

ANYway, at this juncture, boy calmly begins a rambling recital of the steps that lead up to the whatever-it-was.  I'm rising to my feet to go check on my baby as he's talking.

Then, from the darkened foyer, behind Boy, just like a classic B-movie zombie, staggers Fiver.  He's got a mouthfull of blood, blood down his chin, and blood all over the front of his shirt.  Only when he sees me does he start crying.

I almost screamed like a girl.

But true to my calm-in-emergencies nature I just snatched him up (I did do one thing: I barked at Boy something hurried along the lines of 'don't stand about jaw-jackin' if your brother is bleeding'*) and swept Fiver off to the bathroom for cleaning and inspection.

His lip was well and truely split, something that in retrospect could have done with a stitch, but it was so swollen and tattered (his teeth were involved somehow, but I can't figure if he bit his lip or just smashed it against his bottom teeth.) that I didn't realise. At any rate he was quiet and calm and even held his own washrag full of ice against his lip while I cleaned up and Boy fetched the ibuprofen.

So alls well that ends well. His lip is a bit puffy but not too bad and he's happy as a clam. I got everyone's scripts (and the groceries and the feed and, yes, I got back pretty late) so all the sickies should begin to feel better soon.  Oh, and at some point either Wednesday or yesterday Fiver actually did a wee in the toilet!  I was so proud!

Gosh. I wonder what today will bring?

*I apologised to Boy later for snapping at him, explaining that I was just shocked at the sight of his brother. We conferred and realised that when he left the bedroom the bleeding wasn't nearly so bad and that the sight of Fiver with all the blood startled him, too!


Do you have any stories of terrifying kid hurts?  How did you deal with it?  How did your child handle it?  I'd love to hear your experiences!

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posted by MrsEvilGenius @ 6:30 am   3 comments


At 8:39 am, Anonymous UncleFrog said...

Glad Fiver is ok. Perhaps besides reinforcing calm reactions to emergencies, you will also stress urgency of calm action when there is blood involved. Your stories are so vivid, I can picture all of that in my mind's eye. Glad the family is on the mend. -UncleFrog

At 9:37 am, Blogger moonduster said...

Yikes! Glad he's going to be okay!

You might remember that my little Connor broke his leg when he was 10 1/2 months old. We took him to the ER and waited for HOURS. I didn't cry until I saw the x-ray, and that was only because I hated knowing how much pain my little baby boy was experiencing.

At 3:25 pm, Anonymous Anonymous said...

When my oldest son was 10 we were camping at a family reunion. I was in trying to nurse my 10 month old daughter to sleep for a nap when my sister poked her head in and said, "DS is hurt."

"DS is always hurt," I replied because he is a drama queen.

"Give me the baby and put your shoes on!" she barked.

Hhhmmm......sis never gets agitated. I went.

as I got close to the lakeshore, I could see my cousin, knee deep in water, running for the shore holding my unconscious child. I went to get the car.

By the time I had pulled around, DS was awake and my hubby was holding him. He yelled for me to get in back, handed the boy onto my lap, and jumped into the driver's seat. Then he starts speeding, literally like 90 mph toward the hospital.

Hhhmmmm.....the hubby never drives like this.

"Can I drive?" I ask.

"No." comes the reply.

"Then you have to slow down. You're going too fast."

"You're gonna have to trust me on this one," he says.

Hhhmmmm.....there is something he is not telling me.

I examine the boy and find only the 1 inch gash on the top of his head, which is bleeding.

We get to the hospital, and the hubby goes in and talks to the intake people leaving me alone to get a big, woozy 10 year old boy out of the car and into the ER.

Only after they had taken the boy into an examining room does hubby spill the beans.

The boat anchor had glanced off a reef in the lake, shot all the way up in the air, fully extended on it's 30 ft. rope, and come back down to smack the boy on the top of the head. All 17 pounds of it. From 30 feet up.

When he fell out of the seat, out cold, hubby was pretty sure he was dead, but didn't want to scare the other kids. When he came to, hubby figured he was losing brain matter out the top of his head.

The boy had a concussion, needed 7 stitches to close up the gash on the head, and lost his memory of about 6 weeks before the accident and about a week after.
He's a lucky little buggar.


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