Crisis Mode

Remember a while back when I said that three kids wasn't that many kids?  I was talking about the way people stare at us whenever we walk through the sliding doors of any public arena.  We aren't a freak show, we're a family.  Three kids isn't that many kids...  Well, I take it back.  Three kids is a lot of kids.

I'm constantly in crisis mode!  Every little thing I do is hard.  I mean really hard.  Things that are supposed to be simple, things that are supposed to make things easier, normal things that normal families do become quests of epic proportions.

Going to the Park?  Some one will inevitable fall of the equipment.  Whether it be the slide a swing or the monkey bars some one will end up crying and bleeding by the time we leave.  If I'm lucky it's only one child.

Going to the store?  Set aside at least an hour of your time to a) rebuild displays b) look for a small child that has managed to hide in one of the many clothing racks c) wrestle any number of toys out of someones hands or d) all of the above

Taking the kids to a restaurant?  You will spend the entire meal in the bathroom stale with anyone of your small children.

Everything I do is hard!!!

Even that doesn't seem so bad when compared to the fated moments of complete calamity that you can neither expect or plan for.  At least when things are hard I can just drink more coffee or in most cases just do things half-asked.  But what do you do when you are constantly in crisis mode?

I should be skinnier...

Some things should just be simple.  For example, having the kids play in the playroom.  What could go wrong?  You would think that a whole room dedicated to being a kid friendly place of play and imagination would be a safe haven.

Well you would be WRONG!

It's a death trap... like everything else in my house, apparently.

So I'm in my room, folding three weeks worth of laundry (don't ask) and I hear an ear piercing scream.

Now normally, this wouldn't faze me since I spend a better part of my life listening to varying levels of screaming.  But this one was different.  This was a true and sincere scream of pain and anguish.  I almost missed it since I'm not used to hearing actual cries for help.

I rush into the next room with my eldest following in my trail.  My son (of course, it was my son)  is standing in the middle of the room screaming.  Again, this isn't so strange a scene except in this act there is a slight flow of blood pouring from his right ear.

Great.

Wordlessly, I rush him to my bathroom and sit him on the counter.  I run the hot water and try to wipe up as much of the blood as possible so I can see the damage and start to deduce what happened.  Meanwhile my eldest is in full blown panic.

"What happened?  Why is he bleeding?  Where is he bleeding from?  Are we going to have to go to the hospital?  I'm so nervous right now! Is he going to be okay?  What happened?  Stop crying!  I can't hear mommy!"

Wordlessly I assessed the damage.  And this my friends is how you know that three kids might be a lot of kids.

My thoughts exactly:

 'I don't think I have to go to the ER.  I mean, sure there's a lot of blood and his ear looks like it's pretty split open... but that will totally heal on its own right?  Maybe, if I can get the bleeding under control this won't be a problem.  Ew, what is that string of something escaping from the wound and it's kinda turning black... ugh, I'll compromise, I''ll call the doctor.'

"Looks like you might need stitches, buddy." By this point my son has stopped cry and is trying to see his own ear in the mirror.

From my eldest: "Stitches?! Oh no!  That's terrible!  It's going to hurt so bad!  Are they gonna put a needle in it?  What's stitches?"

I spend the next 10 minutes calling the doctor, wrestling three small children into the car while one of them bleeds all over himself and rushing my happy butt over to my pediatrician.

If you ever want your doctor to be quick on your check in at the office, I recommend bleeding all over the sign-in sheet.  From the moment we walked through the door to the doctor walking in was no more then 7 minutes.  I kid you not.

Anywho, the doctor comes in takes one look at it and tells me everything is fine.  He doesn't need stitches or even glue.  (Glue! Why didn't I think of that.  I could have saved a copay)  My oldest gives an audible sigh of relief and we just tack this story up to the growing number of stories where my son scared the crap out of me.

I'm sure you are wondering what actually happened.  Well, you know all the toys that your mom tells you to pick up because you are going to trip and fall and hurt yourself?  Yeah, we're not just blowing smoke up your ass.  He tripped over a pile of toys and landed ear first on to the edge of the train table and the pressure of the fall split his ear wide open.

But fortunately for everyone involved, t'was only a flesh wound.

ew

Antenella