So I was on vacation the other night at the exotic resort of Winco, and I had just left produce, and was headed down the cracker aisle to grab the necessities (Belvita breakfast biscuits and popcorn.) when my phone began to ring. I try to avoid answering my phone in the grocery store because ever since the infamous “cupcake incident” I can only talk to people via speaker phone. This can be a little awkward in public. But it was Richard, and I thought he probably wanted me to add something to my list. That’s not at all what he was calling about, and the young adoring couple in the aisle with me heard Richard calmly say
“Simon hit his head, and he probably needs stitches.”
When you get this phone call about your first child, you drop everything and bolt out the door. If it’s your second child, you calmly explain your situation to a store employee so they can return the items, and then you bolt out the door. If it is your third child you pay for what you have in your cart, and meet your husband at the hospital. And when it is your fourth child you go ahead and finish your shopping because these childless shopping opportunites are few and far between!
I’m mostly teasing, but not really. I called a neighbor to come sit with the other kids, told Richard to meet me at the ER, and grabbed a couple other much needed items before paying for my groceries and then bolting out the door.
Simon was a trooper in the ER. His camera “smile” is this sort of squinty-eye grimace, and Richard and I both chuckled at his stoicism, because despite his circumstance, he was doing his best to smile for the camera.
He ended up with six sutures. (Sorry Richard, I just love that word even if it sounds affected.) And it took me a while to finally get the whole story, but this is what I got.
The story goes, that while Richard was brushing teeth, Cameron was running the circus. The kids were (like they always are) hyper at bedtime, and doing all kinds of crazy antics. After Eli hurt his head, Richard issued a warning to the ringleader, that apparently went unheeded. This left the ringleader to hide after Simon’s collision with the piano resulted in a bloody mess, because he felt personally responsible. Meanwhile Eli screamed about the blood and horror, and Mirim looked on with amazement and curiosity, quite enjoying the experience I think.
So fast forward six days, the designated time period before suture-removal, and on this brisk morning I took Simon back to the ER to have the sutures removed. I had Eli and Miriam with me, and the nurse, bless her heart, gave all the kids popsicles on our way out the door.
The kids were all FREEZING the whole way home because the heater in our van doesn’t work (a story for another day) and did I mention it was -2 degrees outside?
Less than two hours after suture removal (I know, I can’t help myself) we found ourselves at the church, having an indoor playdate with some friends. It was another circus. With another casualty. I looked up to see Simon crying on the floor and saying “Owie owie owie.” He had hit his head in exactly the same place and part of the wound had reopened.
Okay, time to put this story in hyperspeed.
I made all the necessary phone calls. I made a decision. I took more pictures. I drove to Walgreens and cried on the way there. I bandaged it. He ripped the bandages off. But no more stitches. No more popsicles. Just what will likely be a rad scar.
And here he is. The day after the second injury, smiling an almost normal smile. If you ask him about it he will point to his head and say
And that is the really long story about the not-so-simple headwound.