"I'm all right. It's no big thing. No need to worry."
How's that grab you for opening words to a phone conversation? Especially as a parent.
I can't complain, I've had my share or MADE my share. There was the day that I fell out of the pharmacy (down a single step that I'd conquered for more than a dozen years) and proceeded to knock over a stack of about twenty plastic totes AND pull down an entire photo display (peg board, film, flashbulbs..the works) landing in a crumpled pile next to the copier in front of my customers. I jumped up like a Muppet (actually I went down like one too..with arms flailing and my mouth hung open in surprise...It was DANDY!) and hopped back into the pharmacy. Between peels of laughter, someone DID ask if I was hurt. I could merely answer the truth: "Only hurt my pride." But about two days later, it appeared that I had tried to stop a caning (or been a victim of one). There were thick black and deep purple bruising stripes on my legs from where the totes fell against me. There were small "fingertip" marks where the hardware on the pegboard poked my skin. Want to hear the best thing? For the two weeks of my vacation, I had to sit on beautiful Venezuelan beaches in my bikini looking like I'd been whipped by the ropes that held the cruise ship I came in on. FABULOUS. That conversation began "I'm okay...."
My children (5 and 3 at the time)were washing their toy car in the hot summer sun. I dashed around front to grab the mail and by the time I reached the side yard on the way back (this took about twenty seconds) there was screaming; painful terrified screaming. When I reached the kids I found them bloody and clinging together on the step with the hose plashing sympathetically next to them. I didn't know who was hurt or where. I tried to remain calm, rinsing them off as gently as I could to see. Apparently while playing car wash, Ben had decided that it was time for the big rinse. He took the bucket and wanting to simulate a huge wave/splash, he swung it, clocking his sister just above the eye splitting it open. What a gusher. So I made her hold a paper towel while we ventured into the grocery store. Now mind you, Boo had hugged Maddie when she got hurt so BOTH kids had blood streaks. As we picked out our band aids, a woman cut in front of us. I said just loud enough for her to hear:
"Hang on kids...you can pick your band aids out in a minute. (they whimpered)...I know...just wait your turn please."
The woman turned to glare but almost passed out. I smiled tightly and shrugged as I reached passed her and said:
"Yeah, I think we'll need the big box of Winnie the Poohs and some Spidermans. Ya think? Maybe some butterflies..."
We hobbled to the register (thank the LORD it was self checkout)and zoomed home. I got that butterfly on great...no stitches and there is a teensy scar but you have to know where to look. THAT call began as "It looks a lot worse than it is..."
My favorite was my husband's:
"You see those flashing lights up ahead?" (we had to travel similar routes to work at the time. He was about 10 minutes ahead of me.) "Yeah, well, you need to stop. It's me. I've had an accident."
Let's permit that one to sink in. Did I mention he was on a motorcycle? Hmmmm. So I skid up and begin to pick up his crunched helmet. I see him sitting dazed at the side of the road. A woman approaches me. She's been crying. I hand her a tissue. "It was an accident. Everyone will be okay. Cars can be replaced. " I said.
"Let's not tell any insurance companies. 'Kay?" She sniffles. I leave her with her snotty tissue watching my husband being loaded into an ambulance like an Easy Bake oven. She was lucky we didn't need another one. I wanted to clean her clock.
But then we have last night.
A trip to Home Depot for some wood for the new bar. ( for the "saloon" in "Promises"...it's going to be nothing short of fabulous. Cheech will build, I will stain. I can't wait to show it to you!) He'd been gone for quite a while. I was on my cell with a girlfriend when he beeped in. I switched over.
"You don't need to come to the hospital. It's not that bad."
All I could think was that the car was totalled and my boys were hurt. My mouth went dry. I leaned on the counter. "You better tell me what happened or I'm comin for ya." I said in my best but most terrified John Wayne voice.
"I have a little splinter." he laughed, almost embarrassed.
I waited."I was moving wood and I got a splinter. I went to pull it out but my whole hand moved and that is when I realized it went....(yep)...all the way through."
He'd been skewered. Holy crap. He'd made a Cheech-kabob. After much reassurance, I let him stay by himself. Boo wanted stay with his dad. They went to the ER.
I thought it was great when the nurse asked my son "Why didn't you just pull it out?" This was while she was jabbing a Novocaine needle into his flesh to remove the angry over sized toothpick from Cheech's hand.
Boo never missed a beat: "I just told him to rub some dirt on it. "
She apparently never saw or enjoyed the Peyton Manning commercial. It's a standard reference in our home.
Perhaps THAT will be the next phone call:
"I rubbed some dirt on it; buuuuut....."
Just sharing a little excitement and a small laugh. Thanks for visiting. Have a safe, injury free day. :)
