In case you caught bit and pieces of my Twitter stream last night (like my father did, on my blog — poor dad), let me fill in the blanks.
For amusing vacation anecdotes, please come back tomorrow.
Michael and I returned to Pittsburgh via the Cranberry exit of the turnpike, and were home by about 4 p.m. And locked out because Dan had the house key. Fortunately my in-laws were home, and we said our hellos and got our house key from them.
Dan and I traveled separately because we needed two cars for all our stuff. Well, the kids’ stuff really. Plus, you know, the kids. (It’s time for us to invest in a bigger vehicle.) Sunday after packing the car and having brunch with my parents, sister, and her family, Dan took the girls to visit a friend near Seven Springs, while M and I headed for home.
M napped about an hour in the car, and was, not surprisingly, cranky once we got home. He threw a fantastic tantrum, and I figured he was headed for an early bedtime. We had cheese and noodles for dinner — we need to go to shopping — and took a nice little walk.
Once we got back home, he played in the tub for a bit. Then he decided he wanted to get out as I was rinsing the shampoo out of his hair. As a result of his eagerness, the slippery tub, and my hands being full and wet, he slipped and smashed his chin on the edge of the tub.
I was terrified for a moment that he had hit his *teeth* — he went down hard. But it turned out he had just put a nice gash in his chin. I called my MIL because it looked to me like a trip to the hospital was in order. It wasn’t bleeding a lot, but it was… well, gaping. After the fall, he didn’t even cry that long, and he didn’t knock himself out. Once the first wailing stopped, he actually asked for ice, which I was more than happy to give to him.
My FIL drove us to the ER, where they were friendly and efficient. Instead of stitches, Michael got Dermabonded — basically superglue for your skin — and then got an orange popsicle.
As we left the ER, I said to M, “Let’s not come back here for a long, long time.” The male nurse who was assisting us said, “I have bad news for you. He’s a boy.” Seeing as M has already attempted to climb a tree, ride a scooter, and reach the monkey bars on our jungle gym, he may have a point.
On the way home, M happily babbled in the back seat, and once home, we snuggled, he had his bottle, the girls peered at his wound, and everyone (except the grown ups) went to bed. Not the best ending to a five-day vacation (which was really nice), but everyone is fine. A couple of days in our normal routine should get everyone back in equilibrium.
Do boys go to the emergency room more than girls? Or do they go to the ER for injuries more often than girls?