On the way home Tuesday night, I filled the externally flameless Mommyvan with gas, stopped at the grocery store, picked up the littles, then came home.
The three clowns were playing in the front of the house, then the back while Hubby mowed the back and front yards. I made dinner in between putting lunches for tomorrow together, collected the garbages, emptied the dishwas--
"MOM! Come quick! Buddy hit his head!"
I ran outside to the deck where Punkin was holding a sobbing Buddy.
crying, that's a good sign, right?
"What happened?!" I demanded
"He tripped and hit his head on the stairs to the deck"
Before I reached Buddy, I could see the strange white-blue mark next to his eye. That wasn't there before.
I dropped to my knees on the deck and scooped Buddy onto my lap, then stood up with him in my arms.
Steady now, Kel. Don't panic.
"Get your Dad, tell him to come here."
Hubby, my rock. I know I should be doing more, but I need to know if I'm supposed to panic.
"It's just a mouse, he'll be ok. Kel, get him in the house. We need to get ice on that..."
"Dad, what do you mean a mouse?"
"A knot, a goose-egg, a bump on the head. He'll be fine."
We laid Buddy down on the island countertop in the kitchen and put some ice on the mouse. By now, the mouse was covered by a thin scrape of blood. Apparently, he hit the edge of the stair and slid down somehow.
Hubby applied the ice pack while I wet a washcloth to dab at the mouse. Buddy was awake and laying still. I stared at that mouse next to my son's eye.
Oh my God, that looks bad. Is he ok? Yes, he's ok, it's just a bump on the head. He's awake, he was crying, his eyes look fine. Yeah, but are you sure because it looks really bad. Shouldn't we take him to the emergency room?
"Hon, shouldn't we take him to the doctor?"
"Kel, we'll keep an eye on him. He'll be ok. You ok, Buddy? Let's see, sit up... yeah, you'll be ok."
The kids went outside to play with instructions from Dad "Take it easy" and instructions from Mom "Be careful now, don't play too rough out there, no running all over the place and climbing all over everything. He needs to just take it easy for a bit. Punkin, if you notice Buddy acting strangely, or his head starts really bleeding or anything, come and tell me right away. I'm just inside the door in the kitchen, and I'll be watching out the window..."
Ok, so he looks ok. He's playing ok--yikes! He's climbing again! Don't climb! Stop! Just sit, rest, please... Oh man, I feel like I'm going to be sick. Is he ok? What about now? Is he ok now?
I watched Punkin re-enact what had happened for Hubby, then Hubby went back to mowing the front yard. I went back to juggling dinner and emptying the dishwasher. I also called another Mom to ask "So, when should you take a headwound to the hospital...?" She calmed me with some sound advice and a few "I've been there" stories.
Dinner was served a bit later, Buddy ate well, played well, and acted like he always does. The mouse looked smaller by the time dinner was over, and still smaller by the time he went to bed.
This morning, the mouse is gone. Leaving this in it's place:
It's swollen and purple and blue. The scrape is scabbing over. He looks a bit like a little, tiny thug. "You should have seen the other guy."
Whenever Buddy jumps off something or climbs or runs and slides on the kitchen floor, I cringe. Hubby constantly reminds me "He's a boy. Boys do stuff like that."
I know, I know... I just wasn't ready for that mouse.