Salt In The Wound

Wife has been close to pulling her hair out for the last few days. She is quite the accomplished little home doctor, but when her patients won’t follow the prescription, well I guess that will drive any doctor insane. So, the two little boys, again, took off their Band-Aids. Continue reading

The Different Faces of Mischief

The children all seem to pass through some mischief phase or another. With all our children, one right after the other, I would have thought that Wife and I would be able to correct any misbehavior almost before it happens. Well, it so happens that while all the children fall into the same patterns, they, very cleverly, find very different way to execute them.

One little face.

One little face.

Wife, now seven and a half months pregnant, waddled out to the porch like a penguin in high-gear. The screams that modulated between annoyance and terror, all stemming from the miniature lungs or #8, were the cause for Wife’s swift pace. And when she burst through the screen door, she was met with a sight that sent her temper up to match her quickening stride. The fourteen month-old, #8, was pinned down by his two year-old brother, #7, who was attempting to run over #8 with a big-wheel.

Another little face

Another little face

Like an avenging angel, Wife swooped in and with a blur of motion had #7 by the scruff of his shirt. He looked up with an expression of horrified amazement, as if to say, “Where on earth did you come from?” But after that he had no time for conscious thought, for he was caught in the whirlwind of his mother’s wrath; and before he knew what happened, he was whisked away in a tornado of arms and legs and left nearly spinning on his bed with the strict command to, “THINK ABOUT WHAT YOU DID!”

GET OUT OF THE WAY!

GET OUT OF THE WAY!

Wife then lifted up and comforted #8, and as he laid his head on her shoulder she turned and notice #5 and #6 for the first time. #5 piped up, “We saw him runnin’ over the baby, we saw him!” And next to his brother, #6 was nodding his head. It would have been better if he had said nothing.

Wife’s motherly instincts became indignant, and her flash-powder-temper had already been ignited. “Then why didn’t you stop HIM!”

At that point, the National Weather Service satellites recorded a second tornado blowing through my house which has taken hold of two little boys.

Here I must stop my wit for a brief moment and declare a wisdom that I had previously overlooked. The children’s bedrooms consist of bunk beds, sheets, and pillows. No toys. No books. No stuffed animals. All Wife’s design. Which means, when children are sent to bed, they have nothing to do but sit in bed… and start the crying that always accompanies discipline.

When I got home at the end of the day, all three boys were still in their beds, fast asleep, some four hours later. And bed-time-out worked. I know now #7 learned that #8 is not a speed-bump, for he has not tried to ride over him again. On the other hand, #8 keeps his distance when #7 in on his big-wheel. And #5 and #6 have learned that they are their “brothers’ keepers,” or at least they plead ignorance after the fact…

An Emergency Room Visit

There we were, seven o’clock at night, Wife, #3, #8 and myself waiting in the Emergency Room. The purpose for our speedy entry to the hospital was #3, who had bitten through the corner of her lip on a nasty tumble. I probably should have felt a little guilty about the situation, because she had tripped while running to the table to get the parmesan cheese for me. After her face had a disagreement with the leg of the table, we found ourselves in the car, while luckily my mother was close by to watch the rest of our brood. I shiver to think of all those children waiting in the Emergency Room with us.

So we waited, #3 struggling to keep her mouth closed, while butterfly bandages held her lip together. I guiltily mourned in silence over my plate of uneaten spaghetti which would certainly be stale by the time we got out of the hospital. Wife’s head seemed to be on a swivel, looking from one sick person to another and back to her baby. You know hospitals, they’re just full of sick people.

While we waited Wife did her best to distract #3 with games on her cell phone. We took turned walking the baby around as the Emergency Room gradually filled and emptied again. Some one had fallen off a horse. Some one else looked like she had an extreme fever. There were a couple of runny noses and one individual with hepatitis. While I didn’t notice it at the time, Wife kept reseating us as far as possible from the sickest people, just in case they had something catchy.

It must have been about an hour and a half when we were finally taken back to a bed. A very nice little nurse looked at #3 and cleaned the blood off her face. She kept up a friendly conversation with my little girl about which princess she liked best. However, #3 kept as still as could be while her cut was cleaned and gave absolutely no response to the nurse as to her favorite princess. So in the end, after the little girl did not cry or whimper under the nurse’s hand, the nurse declared that she was, “Princess Brave.”

It was a very long wait in the Emergency Room.

It was a very long wait in the Emergency Room.

And then we waited. I began to eye the bed #3 was on with envy. For a moment I almost made her share it with me, but I also thought the nurses would disagree. That would embarrass Wife which would then mean I was in trouble. So I settle on the floor with my back against the wall. Wife, who I had to insist to sit in the only chair, started to complain about the germs that must be on the floor. I tried my best to assure her that the floors were clean, something I highly doubted, but in any case I didn’t care at that point. If the floors were laced with Spanish Influenza, I was going to sleep there anyway. It was past my bedtime.

It was sometime after eleven when we finally left the hospital. The poor little girl was properly sore after first splitting her lip, then having it sewn back together. No matter how gentle the doctor was, stitches always hurt. Though she was excited about the ice cream Wife had promised her. I was tiredly looking forward to a hamburger. And Wife was itching to make everyone of us bathe to wash off whatever germs we might have picked up in the Emergency Room.

Three stitches later...

Three stitches later…