Blogging has earned a reward I didn't expect. Even my youngest son, who I might add has never cracked one of my books open, has started reading "Dishin' It Out." I'm humbled, awed, but mostly shocked. *love you Brett.*
To say he has been a challenge, is an understatement. If you read "Life is a Bowl of Toilets and I Clean Them," then you already know how much I detest Lincoln Logs. DON'T buy them if you have small children. I can't reiterate that enough...although part of the problem was his father who didn't recognize an injury if it slapped him in the face. *lol* I'm not sure what I expected from a man who thought it was normal for his son to gasp for breath. I came home one day after leaving Brett in his care to hear my sweetie wheezing like crazy. "How long has he sounded like that?" I asked in a panic.
"Oh, ever since he choked on that carrot at lunchtime."
"CHOKED ON A CARROT?" My eyes widened, I'm sure.
"Yeah, but he's fine now." Hubby went back to doing whatever it was he was doing at the time.
"He's not fine! Listen to him? Does that sound fine to you?" I ranted.
"He'll be okay." His famous words. But...that was the carrot incident... this message is about Lincoln Logs.
I was working in the snack bar, fulfilling my obligations as a team mother and left my two children in their father's care. I came home to find Brett sprawled on the floor in front of the TV, his eyes glazed and a washrag stuck in his mouth. I immediately knelt and massaged his brow and cast a questioning glance at my older son, then about nine or ten. "What happened to your brother?" I eyed the piece of terrycloth pressed between my baby's lips.
"Oh, he was running and fell, but Dad took care of it."
"Took care of what?" I demanded. "How did your brother fall... what happened."
Scott, the big brother, lowered his gaze and shrugged. "I think he sort of fell on a lincoln log."
"WHAT?" I gently pried open Brett's mouth and removed the cloth. Even in the dim light, I was horrifed at the amount of blood. Brett couldn't talk, and clearly had cried every tear he had.
I marched into the bedroom where my then husband (notice the THEN) was getting ready for work. "What in the world happened?"
"Oh, Brett and Scott were horsing around and Brett took a tumble."
"TOOK A TUMBLE?" I screamed, having the annoying habit of repeating everything he said because it stunned me into stupidity. "Did it ever occur to you to take him to the ER? He looks like he's in shock."
"He'll be fine." If he hadn't been buttoning his shirt, I think he would have patted me on the head.
I raced back to the den, scooped Brett up and made a beeline for the hospital. I knew the way well...we had our own express lane especially for Brett and all his traumas...let's see there was the horseshoe magnet to the lip in nursery school, the carrot incident, braces through lip...oh God, it's too painful to recall them all.
I'm happy to say he's grown, but his unfortunate legacy of boo boos continues. ...Staple gunned his boot to his shin, had a huge garage door fall on him, has cut himself and bled enough to supply a blood bank...I can't do this...it makes me woozy. God is really his co-pilot!
Although Brett survived that horrible incident, but not without a lot of pain. The LOG pushed the roof of his mouth to the back of his throat and tore that little 'hangy' thing in the the back, the Uvula. A lot of love, Popsicles, and an IV got him through it. I eventually got the whole story. Brett had a penchant for putting everything in his mouth, and on that fateful evening, he had a lincoln log between his lips and was running down the hallway when his brother tripped him! Sort of fell, my foot!
I can hear you groaning from here, so take heed...I still can't look at a container of Lincoln Logs in a toy store without shuddering. :)