Why? You want to know why I won? Well, I guess I could tell you. I mean, why not...it's not like you're going to hold anything against me, right? You wouldn't judge, would you? You shouldn't...it could happen to you too (and I would be completely supportive)!
Mondays are busy mornings around here. Bill's back to work, I'm up early, and we're trying really really hard to make it to Kindermusik on time. If someone had told me 2 years ago that making a 10:00 AM class would be difficult, I would have laughed! So, it's a mad dash of wake up, breakfast, dishwasher/dishes, get dressed, get myself dressed, take the dog out to poop, pack snacks (without being caught by little ones), give sippies, clean up dog poop (ah, yes, my glamorous life), get car started, get kids in car, and get going! Parking is tough at Kindermusik, so I was going to leave a little early. Everything was packed and thank God it was.
The kids are dressed, but don't have their shoes or jackets on. I realize that the dog needs to go out. I let her out the front door and when she comes back in (after I am grumbling about the melting snow constantly dripping off the roof), I bend down to take her leash off. As I am bending down to take the leash off, I am simultaneously pulling the screen door behind me because one of my children (can't remember which one, but I'm pretty sure it was Matthew b/c I remember a head bruise and he's usually the one who gets those) had previously fallen out of the front door b/c the screen door wasn't shut all the way.
So, I pull.
Oh shit...what the hell just happened?
Matthew is screaming. Oh shit...look at his finger...he's bleeding...his finger is mangled...I did this...damn dog...don't blame the dog...you did this.
Pick him up and look at his finger. It is seriously mangled. I did this. Hailey doesn't know what to do. She's following me around picking up toys (I think she was trying to help in any way she could). How did he do this again? He did it yesterday...didn't he learn his lesson? Well, apparently not, dip-shit...didn't you learn your lesson? Don't pull on doors that aren't shutting!!! I did this.
So, he's in my arms. I fill a glass with crushed ice and water and plunk his little hand into the water. Shit...it looks really bad. It's all turned the wrong way and what color is that anyway? I've never seen that on a human being...not even on those weird ER shows. Crap...he's not going for this ice water shit. Grab all of the paper towels left on the roll to try to get rid of some of the blood. I have to see how bad it is. It looks pretty bad.
Shit...we need to get on the road. I don't know if we're going to the hospital or the doctor's office, but we need to get on the road. Gotta get shoes and jackets on. Gotta grab something other than fishies and yo-raisins in case we're at the hospital for a while. Oh good...these four cheese sticks will do the trick. Suit up kids, we're on a mission.
Got them in the car...now the dreaded Husband Call. Now, at this point, I had not cried or even teared up. Yes, I felt guilty and that I was to blame, but at this point I just really needed someone to tell me that it would be okay. Instead, I got Husband Heavy Sigh...you know the one...the one that automatically makes you feel defensive. Ugh...I don't blame him...I know it's a reaction, but here's what I think is going through his mind, "What? How could you let this happen again? You smashed his finger in the door yesterday. Didn't that incident pop into your head once? Why didn't you know where he was? We talked about this. You're a tard." Now, of course, that's not really what he was thinking (at least I hope not), but that's what I thought he was thinking.
Call the doctor.
Yes...bring him right in (they're wonderful).
Call Husband back...no, you don't have to meet me...I'll call if they say to go to the hospital.
Oh God, I don't want to go to the hospital, but at least I have my four cheese sticks with me...always prepared.
Drive, drive, drive...as soon as I get off the exit for the doctor, I look back and Matt's asleep...great!
Get to the doctor. They were expecting us and we get right in (they're wonderful). We see our favorite doctor, but of course, Hailey (mind like a steel trap) totally remembers that this is the place she was tortured with head circumference, being weighed, poked, prodded, and those dreaded shots. She cried the ENTIRE TIME we were there for Matt!!! So, I gave her my phone (highly desired object by my kids) and Matt starts crying b/c she got it and he didn't...great! Doctor examined Matt and said that the chances of his finger actually being fractured were low. He sees these all the time (he said I'd be surprised, but after having it happen twice in two days, it doesn't surprise me...apparently kids don't learn their lessons very quickly)!
Very nice nurse came in to clean him up and put a band-aid on his finger. She was great too. Have I mentioned how wonderful my doctor's office is?
And we're done...back in the car...call Husband...figure out what's next.
So, what to do after a morning of trauma like that? Yes, go to Kindermusik...albeit 20 minutes late, but we made it. He was fine...smiling and running around like a nut. The finger hurt him a few times, but he made it through.
Now that we're home, keeping the band-aid on is proving challenging, but the doctor said not to be a nut about it (does he know me from a former life?). Matt is also having a grand time blowing on his finger (see video), sticking things into his booboo (knowing this grosses me out eggs him on), practicing saying booboo, having Hailey say booboo, and keeping his finger just out of Hailey's reach. She's very curious about this finger and why it's getting so much attention. Every time I kiss Matt's finger, I have to kiss hers. It's been a morning!
Here are some visual aids to complete my reports of the day:
Sorry, Mom...I just can't keep this band-aid on. It feels weird and it's very much like a sticker (which I like to remove and roll into a tiny little ball so you'll think I ate it)!
And our live action shots...video from the source (seriously, you would think the President got his hand stuck in a door the way I'm treating this...I'm sick!):
Found MckMama's blog after I wrote this, but this was definitely "not me." There is no way I would have slammed my son's fingers in the door twice in a row!!! Click here to play along.