I thought yesterday had reached its peak of awfulness. Never think a day has reached its awfulness peak unless the day is over. Never! I know this, but I let my guard down. Homework was finished without episode, dinner fed to the boys without episode, plan set for husband and I to get takeout, and boys off to soccer practice. I had just settled into a good snuggle with Milo and checking in with my mom when I heard crying downstairs. Sal had broken his arm.
Eight years of keeping the ninja moves, daredevil stunts, and bad choices in check, and what happens? Your kid trips over a soccer ball. It wasn't even his team's practice. He was just along for the ride. I'm sorry, kid. Maybe if I wasn't so helicopter-ish, you'd have a much better story to tell.
Speaking of stories to tell, upon our return from the ER, my husband and his parents decided to tell Sal their multitude of broken bone stories. MULTITUDE! There I sat with not a single broken bone story. (Does your pinky finger really count?) The closest I even got to a broken bone was my mom threatening to break my bones (Don't judge! It was the 70's. Physical threats were perfectly in the realm of good parenting.) Sorry kid, you clearly picked up the broken bone gene from the in-laws.
Speaking of in-laws, mine, and my own parents even, can be, how shall I put it....supportively challenged. But, when you're sitting in the ER next to a baby whose grandma let the stroller get away and it tips over smashing the baby's head into the concrete, you say to yourself, "Well at least Grammy never dropped you on your head."
That was yesterday. Today was supremely uneventful in comparison. My husband stayed home and took Sal to the ortho to get an actual cast without episode. I dropped Milo off for his second day of preschool without episode. We all took naps without episode. My biggest obstacle was dealing with a nasty bout of gas from eating about ten Five Guys fries. Seriously?!?! What is with Five Guys making me sick? I can't even eat ten fries? I guess this, too, is divine intervention since the last thing I need is Five Guys.
Sal confided to my husband today that he thought while walking to the car after falling, "I'm too young to die." Then he said, "I really knew I wasn't going to die, but I thought maybe I might lose my arm." My little melodramatic boy. Today my prayer is love. That's all. Just letting love wash over us and not thinking too much about all the other crap. Love.
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