Sometimes Material Just Presents Itself

Friday night, just as I was “preparing” dinner - leftovers if you must know, Andy arrived from work announcing "we have visitors." It was my neighbor and her 3-year-old and 9-month-old, having just locked herself out of the house. Andy immediately left to try and break into her house via sliding door using a coat hanger.

HRH, Roger Clemens, and 3-year-old-neighbor-girl decide to play tag, running around my house - living room, dining room, kitchen, hall. Somewhere in the second lap, HRH wipes out while making the transition from dining room rug to kitchen Pergo. On the way down, he slams his head on the bottom drawer of the stove.

To be honest, we'd been in the house for most of the afternoon and HRH and Roger Clemens had been at each other's throats, so the crying really didn't resonate. I walked away from pleasant chit-chat with my neighbor to oh-poor-baby-you're-okay HRH (in HYSTERICS) to discover a gash in his head about an inch above his left ear.

I pick him up, examine the wound, and and show my neighbor (a nurse practioner), to get her opinion, already knowing the answer. She says "yeah." I call my mother-in-law -- for the second time in three months -- to ask her to come over immediately to look after one while I take the other to the ER.

So here we all are, me anticipating MIL’s arrival, awaiting Andy breaking into my neighbor's house, and my SCREAMING, jumping-up-and-down, refusing-to-let-me-put-ice-on-it, four-year-old.

While I'm gathering my purse, his special blanket, etc., HRH decides he wants to go tell Daddy and actually leaves. I spot him through the front windows heading across the street and run after him. Luckily, Andy has broken in and is exiting the neighbors’ via the front door and meets up with me as I catch up with HRH.

MIL arrives, neighbor et al can get into her house, and Andy, HRH, and I are off to the Emergency Department.

After much histrionics, and surprisingly, no visit from DSS (the 'childlife specialist' assigned to us did ask HRH what had happened), my boy now has exactly one staple in his head due to be removed the day before we leave for week at the beach.

In a bizzare case of de-ja-boo-boo, we had the same nurse, same doctor, and same room as we had with Roger Clemens' head injury/stitches at the end of April.

My sister, reminded me this morning that none of her five children has ever had stitches. I remind her that her BOY is only three...or maybe I'm just over my limit.