Bloody Hell

I am flying solo this week. Husband is in Vegas, throwing money away at the World Series Of Poker. He was eliminated from his event in short order, so he entered another. He lasted longer in that one, but ultimately fell. BUT! His coworker/travel companion entered the same event (the first one) and just finished in second place! I'm impressed.

Meanwhile, back at the homestead, my first two days without parental backup were pretty heinous. I was absolutely stressed to the max, wigging out at everything and nothing, and the kids were being complete turds. I was completely mystified--why was I so easily pushed over the edge? Why did I feel so insane? Why was everything so awful? Why did my back hurt so horribly? Why was I so bloated and...OH. Oh, THAT. Just like last month! You'd think I'd learn.

Once the hormonally induced insanity abated, we got down to having a much better time together. My sister and her family came into town, and the kids played all day and night. Bedtime wasn't happening smoothly, so I gave up and let them run wild, rather than spend all evening beating my head against a wall for naught. It was close to midnight when I finally pushed them into bed, having come to the realization that they would never voluntarily lay down anywhere. They were out in about 7 seconds. "Let's hope they sleep in," we said, knowing very well that we had a snowball's chance in hell of getting any extra rest out of the deal. Sure enough, they were up bright and early this morning, running, running,jumping, thumping, running. The markers we'd left out last night ("Stop running for 5 minutes! Here, draw something.") were promptly put to good use, and when I blearily wandered into the kitchen this morning, I found four very colourful little boys. Good thing I only buy the washable markers.

After the cousins had moved on, I threw the big kids in the tub and got the baby to sleep. I told them to play in the tub as long as they liked--since the marker had stained a bit, I figured an extra-long soak couldn't hurt. The soaking part certainly didn't hurt, but the exit was a bit more painful. G slipped on his way out of the tub and bashed his chin on the toilet, opening an inch-long gash in his chin that bled impressively. So we went on a little family outing to the walk-in clinic, where we waited for an hour or so before a friendly nurse held his head steady to receive FOUR STITCHES! IN MY BABY'S FACE! WAAAH!

He was such a champ, truly. We warned him there would be a needle to make the area numb (and then we had to explain what "numb" meant), and we warned him that it was going to hurt, but of course he didn't have a clue that they were going to stab him directly in an open, throbbing wound and then pump it full of fluid. His eyes spilled huge tears, and his mouth stretched into a silent wail, but he stayed perfectly still for the doctor. He just squeezed my hand and trembled a bit. He was very still for the stitches as well, but after three, asked, "Can we be all done now?"

By the time we finished up and left, it was past our usual dinnertime, and we still had to stop at the pharmacy on the way home. I didn't want to make the kids wait for me to make a meal after we got home, so we stopped for burgers, hotdogs, and ice creams. "Well," said N delightedly, "This is a nice surprise!" G nodded his bandaged head in agreement. Happy to oblige, boys.

Watching my children spill their own blood always makes me a little more of a Mama Bear than usual, so all three of them are bunking with me tonight. This would work better if Baby J didn't insist on being perpendicular to everyone else. Ah well, I can handle a bit of foot in the face--it's better than a toilet.