All in One Day

Sunday started out as a normal day. Breakfast, play, nap, a vain attempt at lunch and more play. Little Man's favorite past time is to gather his stuffed animals on the couch, wrestle with them, fling them from the couch and then retrieve - face first. Of course he became more and more rambunctious the longer he played this game which meant he flung the animals farther - far enough that he could not hang from the couch face first and retrieve. This led to his cries of "Ree, ree" (reach, reach, as in I can't). After watching me make him say please and retrieving the flung items about 20 times, my darling husband comes out with the comment "enough of the self-imposed martyrdom. You flung 'em. You get 'em."

Time for a distraction. My husband takes him outside to play while I clean up some more. They end up back inside as his little friend across the street has decided Sunday's are a great day for a marathon nap.

His friend wakes up and comes over just as I am about to toss Little Man back outside. Who ever thought I'd be that excited to see a 3 year old. So the boys throw the balls around, run like little wind gusts, screech and basically enjoy the beautiful day we had. We end up behind the neighbors house. The boys are chasing each other while the mamas talk. I watch Little Man run down the hill and think to myself "he's going to fast". He disappears behind the fence. I can only see a blur between the slats and then nothing.

"He fell" said my neighbor.

"Eh, he's fine".

Then we both cock an ear as a faint cry reaches us.

"Hmmm." I jog toward him thinking he just scared himself. And then I see his friend. His friend is looking right at him and is frozen in fear. My heart stops and I turn into the Flash. How I managed the turn at that speed with out skidding into the fence myself I still don't know. Little Man is pushing up on one hand. The other reached out to his friend like he is begging for help. That wrist is limp. My stopped heart now jumps into my throat as I think he has broken his wrist. I call out to him and the wrist moves. Phew. Not broken. But then he moves his head and in slow motion I see the blood splattering all over the grass. I scoop him up and bury his bloody face into my shoulder hoping I'll hit the spot or spots that need pressure to slow whatever is bleeding.

As I run past my neighbor for my house I simply say "we have blood". I was moving so fast I was well past her before I heard her say "go to my house". It was closer but I didn't want to drip blood all over her rug. See - I can be a conscientious neighbor even in the middle of a wee crisis.

Upstairs into the bathroom, away from the mirror with cold damp cloth in hand I start to wipe away the blood so I can assess damage. Yet another fat lip. It takes a bit before I can ascertain for certain that all the blood came from the lip and no where else.

Little Man is calm. The bleeding has stopped.

"Can mommy change her shirt"

Shake head.

"Ou"

"Back outside?"

"Dup"

"Ok. Mommy will wear your badge on her shoulder".

Back outside we go and I tell the boys no more running that fast and that far. Let's take it down one notch.

"Sly"

He wants the slide which is in our neighbor's muddy backyard. So Matt, being the saint that he is, drags it out the back gate to the boys can slide in a less muddy area. It is a small "house" with a slide attached. Little Man walks through the door and climbs up on the landing to go down the slide but his friend has jumped up on the side. He is not impeding Little Man's sliding abilities in the slightest but the earlier incident has put my son in a mood. He wines. He fusses. I walk to the front of the slide and put his legs on the slide so he can see there is no impediment. He gets mad at me, kicks my hands away and slides back on the bench/ledge. Then he slides back again for emphasis. Yup. You guessed it. Pushed himself backwards off the ledge. His butt slams into the ground and his head whacks on the door. Thankfully these things are made of hollow plastic so there is no real damage done but of course he cries and of course I feel like shit.

I decide it is time for some quiet indoor play and intend to take him home but Natalie decides we'll take the boys inside their house. As Matt said, "Enough of the drama already".

It goes quite well. The boys play relatively quiet for boys of their age and only squabble over sharing (or rather, NOT sharing) a few times but no real tears. They end up behind the couch. Natalie and I aren't even really paying attention because they are so well behaved.

And then my son cries for the 3rd time in one hour. I roll my eyes expecting a sharing issue. Until we hear his partner in crime apologize to him. Hmmmmm.....

Call Little Man over. No blood, no visible red spots. Just tears.

What happened?

"My eye"

Your eye?

Turns out Twiddle Dee and Twiddle Dum decided to play catch. They both excel at throwing the ball but neither one of them knows how to catch the damn thing. Yup, you guessed it. Little Man caught the ball with his eye.

So now I am explaining to a 3 year old that it is ok. It was an accident and I appreciated that he apologized. Then I am explaining to a 22 month old that no, his friend is NOT in trouble and to stop glaring at me. How the hell do you explain "accident" to a 22 month old? Still not sure how if I succeeded or if Little Man has learned to choose his battles.

Thankfully it was a soft ball, what we refer to as an indoor ball so when Little Man was dropped off at day care this morning, an explanation was owed only for the fat lip and not a fat lip AND a bump on the head AND a black eye and no you really don't need to call social services.

And yes, I tried to explain to him one more time that the fat lip was not going to get him adopted by Angelina Jolie and that he was stuck with me. Apparently a battle he still chooses to fight.