Wednesday, August 18, 2010

Ow! I need a bandage

For some reason (Grandpa, maybe?), both boys need a “bandage” when they get hurt instead of a Band-A*d. Everyone I know calls it by its brand name, not bandage. Grandpa is the only person I can think of who would say bandage. Whatever…

We went for a walk on Sunday night. It was a horrible walk. First, there are some new dogs up the street – pit bulls – who are very aggressive and come right up to the fence to snarl, bark, gnash their teeth and generally spread bad vibes throughout the neighborhood. Their owner got mad at us because her dogs were barking up a storm. Stuff it, lady – I’m trying to drag two dogs and two toddlers away from your rabid, ugly animals – don’t give me your shit. Then, we stopped at the corner to look for cars before crossing the street. As we debated which way to go (I let the boys decide if we go right, left, or straight ahead) we were surrounded by a swarm of wasps who just happened to be nesting in the pole that holds the stop sign up. So, I hurriedly drag everyone across the street again. Next we pass another house with two unleashed German shepherds in the front yard. They, of course, start growling and creeping up on us. Their owner called them off, but not before I have to drag everyone along further.

Then, the real mess begins. Almost everyone on this block has removed the grass from their park strip and replaced it with something that doesn’t need water like bricks, cement, or rocks. Many of them also have big decorative boulders on the park strip. The boys like to sit on, try to push, climb on, run around these boulders. This night was no exception. They climbed and laughed and since it was only about 18” tall, they began to jump off of one of them. I was distracted for a brief second, but I turned around just in time to see Meatball fall off – right onto his forehead and face. (He gets his grace and coordination from Bubba, I swear!) I drop everything just in time for the screaming to begin.

I picked him up and he was bleeding a bit (nothing gushing) and a big ol’ goose egg was already formed right below the hairline. He also scraped below and just to the side of his left eye. Poor little guy! He screamed and cried for a few minutes while I held him, tried to collect the dogs, and argued with Peanut about the fact that he wanted to turn left and I wanted to go home. “Finally, I convinced him to be my helper and carry Meatball’s baseball cap…”

We headed home – now with a screaming toddler in my arms – past the German shepherds, past the wasp nest, past the snarling pit bills. Finally, we had to cross the street again, and I wanted to hold Peanut’s hand. He had stopped crying by this time, so I asked Meatball if he could walk across the street. “I really shouldn’t, mom,” was the response. But, he did…

By the time we crossed the street, he was singing a song, so I knew that he was fine, but he looked horrible. We got home and went right into the tub because that’s how he wanted me to clean the wounds. Fine – it was bath night anyway. After a while, Bub came in to see us since the walk was so short and since we didn’t say anything when we walked back in the house. Upon seeing his poor little face, she – of course – flipped out. “I think that we need to take him to the emergency room!” She is nothing if not (overly)concerned. He was, however, reciting his address and half of his phone number at this point, so I figured a trip to the ER wasn’t really necessary. In the end, he was held and coddled and loved all night long. A couple of Lightnin’ McQueen bandages and an ice pack later, and he is feeling fine, but has learned how to work it in order to get popsicles, strawberry milk, and whatever TV show he wants.

Fast forward to the next day. Bub was applying a new bandage to Meatball’s face, and who else should have a problem? Peanut, of course. We’re pretty sure that he was sick of all of the attention being shown his brother. Bub gave him a bandage and said that she would help him with it as soon as she was finished cleaning up Meatball. Apparently that wasn’t fast enough because when she turned around, Peanut was sitting on the couch with NO pants and NO underwear. He was in the process of applying the bandage to, well…. “Mom! My penis is broken!”

1 comment:

Lish said...

Great story!!!!! Broken Penis, hilarious. I am glad he is ok.