Who? Me?

Saturday night was a lazy night. The Dad was playing Warhammer in an all-day tournament that was turning into an all-night tournament. Sigh. But he was doing well and that is kinda cool. Me and the kids were being lazy and relaxing, it had been a busy enough week and Eldest was still recovering from his knee surgery. Trout and I had taken a bath and, seeing as the Dad wasn't home and wouldn't be home for a while, I was walking around with wet, uncombed, einsteinish hair.

I was just gathering the ingredients for brownies, because Eldest had the "munchies' due to his drugs (from the surgery people, sheesh) when the local sheriff popped his head in my back door. Now I know who the guy is, but it's not like we are best buddies or anything. It's definitely not normal for him to pop over and say hi.

"Everyone okay?" He asked. Um, yeah, duh. "We got a 911 hang-up call from this address."

Crap. That would be my fault. I gave Trout the phone, he loves to push the buttons, listen to them beep and watch the phone light up. Apparently he managed to hit the magic combination of 9+1+1+send. Color me embarrassed. Even more so when I had a chance to catch a glimpse of me in the mirror with my wet, einsteinish hair. I scolded Trout but he just looked at me with his big baby blues,

"Who? Me?"

Jackie Channing it

Having boys means getting to know the inside of an emergency room. Really, really well. I have seen the insides of emergency rooms in 5 states now. I've only lived in three. Boys just gravitate towards the stupid (Ow! My balls!). Every time I get mad about the army taking the Dad from me for so many hours every day, every week, every month I think about the emergency room and how high our bill would be without our medical benefits. The army may pay the Dad squat. The army may take the Dad away too much. But the army pays the bill, over and over and over, every time one of the boys (and thrice Daughter) breaks something.

Take Eldest, for example, we are just wrapping up physical therapy for his stellar double bone break this summer (A Tiny Tumble) and he decides to Jackie Chan it and tweak his knee. I'm not positive of all that Jackie Channing it entails, but there's walls and flips and running and stupid stuff involved. It's possible that Jackie Channing it didn't do the damage, or only some of the damage because there was skateboarding and running and jumping and stuff too. The reason I'm not sure what the heck caused the damage would be because I ignore stuff that allows the boys to keep on moving. And Eldest was still hobbling around and moving. No worries on my part.

However, even I have my limits. And when 2, or 4, or 6 weeks later he was still kind of hobbling, and occasionally complaining, I scheduled a Dr.'s visit. And she scheduled an MRI. And the MRI showed a meniscal tear. Off to the orthopedist we went. And, then, yesterday, off to surgery we went.

Luckily, surgery went great. Eldest was first on the schedule, which was a good thing because while he played it cool he was a little stressed on it & his stomach was acting up. It's too bad I forgot my camera because he wore a lovely gown with a beautiful, poofy, cap. After the IV (how anyone can miss with veins like that is beyond me, but they stuck him twice) they shaved his leg and then painted it orange... yeah, he looked wonderful. He said it was too bad they didn't paint it blue, he could've been a smurf. I reminded him that OomaLoompa's are orange. He glared.

Surgery took longer than expected, so I got a little nervous but all was well and he looked great when, finally, I saw him. He had, basically, a double tear which meant a piece of his meniscus was poking up... that was the pain he kept feeling, the pain that had him hobbling and complaining occasionally. They weren't able to repair and therefore removed. Good for now because recovery is quicker, no stitches to heal. Bad as he gets older & has less meniscus. He's happy because now he'll be healed in time for tennis season.

It was pretty funny seeing him hobble to the bathroom with a walker (the nurse padding along besides him, holding his hospital johnny closed so he wouldn't flash his naked butt), he giggled himself and told the nurse he was having "flash-forwards" I assume to when he's old & gray with a walker.

Tongue-Ups

It's widely known that my tongue is so flexible (the only part of me that has fulfilled my wish to be elastigirl) that I can, if I wanted, stick it up my nose. Little kids are frequently entertained either by having me repeatedly demonstrate, or trying it themselves. Even my own kids are fascinated by this talent of mine.

Therefore it came as no surprise today when Squareboy asked me to show off my trick. We were once again in the car, ferrying between school and home. I complied. He watched with rapt attention. Then tried it himself. Again and again. He got very close and I complimented him on his skill. He beamed with pride and kept trying. Finally he asked why he couldn't do it, if he really was my son and all. I explained I'd really stretched out my tongue, because a tongue is all muscle, as I was getting my top teeth. He sighed in defeat. His top teeth are already in.

Next thing I know he's sitting next to me freakishly moving his tongue up and down, up and down. I asked him what he was doing.

"Tongue-ups." He said seriously, "I'm stretching out my tongue"

Being-Who-Knows-All

Car rides with my bunch are fantabuluous. Morning car rides not so much. Today, however, was a wonderful exception. Both Squareboy and Daughter were in excellent moods and Trout, while, unfortunately, stinky, was happily babbling in his seat. With good moods come questions.

"If it rains hard enough can it cut your skin?" From Daughter, because it's lightly sprinkling out and she worries like that.
"No. Skin is very tough and water doesn't have any sharp edges." From me.
"Actually," Squareboy chipped in, "when water freezes it can have sharp edges." Daughter nodded sagely in the backseat, this she had known all along.
"Skin is a wonderful thing." I tried, attempting to save my status as Being-Who-Knows-All (I'm fast losing this status with Squareboy). "Even when skin breaks it can heal itself. Skin is self-healing." This impressed both of them.
"Skin is like armor." Squareboy stated.
"And it holds in our bones." Daughter added. "It holds in our bones and our meat."

The thought of our skin being like sausage casing quieted both Squareboy and I. Having meat, being meat, is not so much of a pleasant thought. And our morning conversation drifted off to Chawlie. Today is Chawlie's last day. I am so sad. Chawlie, and family, is not a close friend but every school day, every church day, every local event day, night, for the last three years has been shared with Chawlie. Every morning before school Chawlie is thought of and mentioned for Chawlie is allergic to peanut butter. And while Squareboy can have peanut butter, being a big fourth grader and not eating lunch with the little first graders, Daughter can't. I make Daughter's lunch first on peanut butter & jelly days, she gets just jelly, then Squareboys, with peanut butter, so there is no cross contamination from the peanut butter jar to the jelly jar. And every morning Daughter reminds me;

"Chawlie is allergic to peanut butter!" As if I'm not the Being-Who-Knows-All.

I'm going to miss Chawlie.