The kids, again, woke up at some ungodly hour and attempted to cajole us into joining them. We declined, and as best I can remember, fell back asleep after encouraging them to grab a box of cereal and figure it all out themselves. It turned out to be a gorgeous day, and although we (sadly) didn't make it to the farmers market, we played outside, rode bikes, hung out, and I dealt with 10 pounds of the short ribs. Just after I got them braising away in the oven, I heard a horrifying crash and then a scream, "Mom, my penis is bleeding."
Y'all, this was a shock. A rare, WTF, what do I do now, say what? kinda declaration from my eldest.
During a light saber battle with Ol, Jack jumped atop the couch but then slipped and fell, man-package first, into a heavy, three-legged, carved from one piece of wood African stool we have. It tumbled, his business was smooshed and his chest crashed against the rim of the seat. I immediately yanked down his pants (terrifyingly there was some blood) and put a towel-wrapped ice pack in his crotch.
Things did not look good. Swelling and discoloration had commenced. The pediatrician's office was closed and the answering service said, "yes, you should definitely head to the E.R." So we did. And boy were we a jumble of mess. El and I had on dirty workout gear from our various romps and outings with the boys; we'd just made a salad for lunch and instead ate in the car during which, of course, a tomato fell off my fork, rolled down my (white) shirt and left a large red stain smack in the middle, Jack had on two different striped articles of clothing, the patterns running perpendicular to one another in a zany way.
I am lucky that one of my dearest friends is a physician at Georgetown and so I called her on our way down to ask if she knew the wait time or to whom we should speak. We were seen quickly, it turns out that all appears well though we're seeing a pediatric urologist (who knew about this sub-specialty?!) later this week, Jack was a brave champ, we played lots of chess while waiting, and after leaving the hospital we immediately went for a double scoop of ice cream plus a topping. While we were being seen, Oliver made Jack the cutest get-well sign (it said 'pott pive' which I cannot decipher) and a video that T texted to us. Very dear.
Let's hope the bend is from swelling and that the swelling subsides soon and that all is quite well in the very near future. Mon dieu, you just never know what's around the next corner.
