Stick Happens.

Ahhhh, my little mountain man.

Last Friday he was playing at the park enjoying the glorious sunshine and the warm Spring weather when he stumbled over some ruffage and scraped his shin. Happens all the time... a handful of tears, some kisses from mommy... Grammie HAPPENED to be there (providence, people) and graciously took him back to the house and cleaned his wound. I thought it odd that he even cried at all, because he NEVER cries when he gets hurt... unless it HURTS. But it was close to naptime, we had been there awhile, it was lunchtime... whatev.

Grammie said good thing she was there and cleaned it up, it was actually a pretty good scrape (tho I never really got a good look until later). She cleaned it with love, healing kisses, neosporin for good measure, and garnished with 2 highly coveted CareBear bandaides.

We had a pretty busy weekend...

The kid would not part with the bandaide. We choose our battles. Carebears were not a threat to homeland security at any given moment... they held fast for 2 full days, unchanged. Dont judge.

This morning I went to shove send Dawson on his merry way off to school (our neighbor is kind enough to take him to and from the 2 half days each week he attends), and I realized the original bandaide was still laughing up at me as I was helping the child into his trousers.

I quickly and tenderly... ha... snatched it off before he could blink. Shut up... I AM a good mother. I am. I am. I am. (For clarification, that was directed to you, the reader. Not what I actually said aloud to my child...)

HOOOOOLLLYYYY disgust. Oozing. Swollen. Festering. Pussing. Does the word 'pussing' disturb everyone else the way it disturbs me...? Yah. My eyes and mouth started to water... not for sad Mommy (that was later), but for... sympathy pain. The wound was fevered, and raised up like a goose egg. And I could have sworn I saw a little piece of something in there... yep, better call the Dr.

I was lucky to get a 9:45 appt, and even MORE lucky to have Ann off today to cover my ars at home with the daycare crew long enough for me to be a Mommy and drive Dawson down there myself. That kills me... I really like this little arrangement of being home with the kids until I miss their Dr appts. Or their class party. Or... you get the idea.

This whole time, D-man is a Marine. He didnt want me to mess with the owie when I took off the bandaide but in his defense... I had just ripped it off sniper style. I dont think I would have trusted me right then, either. But yah. No real complaints aside from that.

In the waiting room, he snuggled me and sat on my lap and drew these adorable pictures of him and daddy mountain climbing, and also of the sunshine... I think he appreciated having me there...

The Dr comes in, puts on some goggles, poo-poos my notions of things being stuck inside this little scrape... she didnt seem to want to get too dirty. She kind of pressed on it a little, and it did the 'p' word again... Dawson... sits there and LAUGHS. The Dr. tells him how brave he is (he really was...) and leaves the room briefly. Dawson leans over and whispers to me "Mom... know why I was laughing when she pushed on my owie??" Ohhhh I could only imagine. "I laughed because it HURT me!" Haha... the little sadist. I wonder where in the blazes he gets it.

Dr. gets a second opinion from the 168.4 yr old colleague, who doesnt want to get too close either and has to stand across the room and squint to allow his far-sided vision a decent look... then they diagnose him with a staph infection, send a culture to the lab to verify what kind of staph it is (apparently there is a super fun one thats going around called 'treatment resistent' for those parents lucky enough to win the infectious illness lottery)... in the end they prescribe an antibiotic hoping its the right one until the results come back in a day (-ish)...

Staph infections are apparently pretty contagious... she told me to soak him in the tub and drain the wound 3x/day and bleach the tub after every soak. I thought of the baths the kids took together over the weekend... and of the daycare zoo waiting for me back at the ranch... (shudder).

I came home, fed and watered and put the crew to bed, and set to work bleaching everything Dawson ever touched/breathed on/looked at. I then had a near death experience/ psychadellic trip with some bleach mixed with a little CLR in my tub scrubbing endeavours... Im lucky to have cheated an early death in exchange for moderate nosebleeding and only tiny pieces of my lungs expelled throughout the frantic coughing fits between the gasping for air and extended periods of blacking out. Ahhh, the (wine) glass is half full yet again.

When Ty got home I told him it was his turn to be bad cop and give D his bath. Poor little man didnt even want to let his owie touch the water. We made a game of it... bribed with rainbow marshmellows and chocolate chips... he finally forgot to care and let it soak for a few minutes... then comes the part where my recollection is completely fuzzy as a result of the post traumatic stress. All I can say for sure is there was lots and lots of saaaaad crying, and something about a pair of tweezers after a blunt object started poking out at me...

These little beauties were born during the ordeal:

TWO.

Yes, my friends.

TWO twigs... not splinters... (practically) TREE BRANCHES... impaled in my toddlers shin. Straight in... toward the bone... hardly visable from the outside( or apparently completely invisable if you have a medical license)... half inch long, each.

The mini-marshmellow is for size reference... and also a tasty snack.


I didnt know if I should laugh... or cry... or throw up...





Poor Dawson. He actually thanked me after it was over (the swelling immediately went down). I told him I was sooo sorry he had that owie... he forgave me. Ha. Little booger.





I seriously cant believe the Dr. didnt bother to do a little more investigative work. An entire wildlife reserve was lodged in my son's body for the duration of 3+ full days and she didnt want to get dirty? Hmmm. I havnt quite decided what to do with my mother bear instinct yet...





Anyway... just another day in the O.R. of a real live desperate housewife, I suppose.





I feel a reality show coming on...