Wednesday, October 24, 2012

They are driving without a permit, by the way

I was going to get Grant from school when this kid passed me and said, "Hey Grandma."  I was kinda stunned and was still standing there, unmoving, when his dad came along a second later.

"I think he just called me Grandma," I said.  "Is it possible that I look anything like his grandmother?"

"I'll kill him, " said the dad. 

I nodded and patted him on the shoulder.

I went on to find Grant in the crowd, worried more about my crow's feet than whether that dad might have been serious about killing his son.

Later as Grant and I were walking back to the car the dad came and found me.  "I don't want you to have a bad weekend so I had to come and find you.  My son said he said, 'Hi Grant's mom'."

OH!  That makes so much more sense!

Don't you just love it when your insecurities throw you out of the driver's seat and take over the wheel?

(This age-progressed photo compliments of my daughter's iPad)

Saturday, October 13, 2012

Stitches and potato chips

I was in the sewing department at Michael’s today when my cell phone rang.  It was Buddy.  He had been in the park playing with the kids and Grant was hurt. 

“He was playing soccer barefoot and he has a big cut on his foot.  I think it needs stitches.”

His foot, that’s good.  It’s far removed from his head.  Just to be sure I checked.  “Is his head okay?” 

“Yeah, it’s just his foot,” he said.

“Okay, I’ll meet you at the ER.”

When I got to the ER Grant was in a wheel chair and his foot was bloody.  I gave him a kiss and then leaned in for a closer look at the gash on his foot.  The cut was long and deep but the blood was oozing, not dripping.  I thought it was a borderline case for stitches but of course I don’t have those expensive “M.D.” letters after my name either. 

The next thing I knew Audrey jumped into my field of vision.  “My finger, Mommy, my finger!!” 

“Your finger?” I asked, confused.  I mean, aren’t we here for Grant’s foot?

“Oh yeah, she hurt her finger playing volleyball in the park,” Buddy said.  “I thought we could ask the doctor to look at it too while we’re here.”

“Mommy my finger hurts SO MUCH!  You should have seen how it happened!”  Audrey said.  And then right there in the crowded ER she gave me a slow motion reenactment of the injury, in which it appears she leaned waaaayyyyy back and then spiked a volleyball with a single index finger.

I examined her finger, compared it to the one on her other hand and concluded that it was a little swollen but for all I knew that was because she had eaten too many potato chips for breakfast that morning.  She could bend it enough to show that it wasn’t broken.  I didn’t think it was even worthwhile to ask the doctor to look at it. 

*  * *{wavy lines, wavy lines, go back in time to Oct 2011} *  *  *

“When did you say he broke his arm?” the doctor asked, holding up an X-ray in the ER room.

“About an hour ago,” I said.

“No, this break is older than that,” he said.  “This has already started to heal.  Like it’s a few days or even weeks old.”

Days.  Weeks.  My mind clicked back in time.  It stopped on October 5th, the day that Grant was playing goalie and his coach sent a practice shot his direction.  Grant had blocked it with his hand and then complained later that it hurt.  We had put an ace bandage on it for a few days but when Grant said that he was ready to go back to soccer I assumed his arm was fine again and I let him go back to his regular activities.  With a hairline fracture in his right radial bone. 

The doctor’s tone was condescending and judgmental when he said, “You see, this is what happens when you don’t treat those initial hairline fractures.”

I wanted to yell at him.  “I know it’s clear to you that he had a hairline fracture that later broke into a compound one, however you have a couple of key pieces of data that I didn’t have.  One is hindsight, which as you know is 20/20.  The other is that X-RAY that you’re holding in your hand.  I didn’t have one of those!  I was going on maternal instincts and intuition.  And with mine I can see into my children’s souls but I can’t see their bones!” 

*  * *{wavy lines, wavy lines, back to the present} *  *  *

“Mommy, Libby hurt her finger playing volleyball and she had to wear athletic tape on her finger for two weeks.  TWO WEEKS MOMMY!  I can’t live like that for TWO WEEKS!!!”

I hugged her and gave her a soothing and kid-friendly version of “This too shall pass.”  The hug also allowed me the opportunity to look over Audrey’s shoulder and see how Grant was doing. 

Just at that moment he was wiping blood off his foot and smearing it on his pants.  “Does that vending machine have sandwiches in it?” he asked a passing nurse. 

Because I love you, dear readers, I’ll spare you the details of the next few hours in the ER.  I’ll cut right to the end of the story, which is that Grant has seven stitches in his foot, bringing his total count to I-lost-count-25-stitches-ago, Audrey maintains full use of all 10 fingers, and my sanity, defying all odds, continues to remain intact.

Wednesday, October 10, 2012

My Fall Haiku

Flakes of gold drift down

I catch one and breathe it in

Strange, fall smells like spring