As is tradition when my husband is out of town... we had to go to the emergency room. It usually snows when he is out of town and I have to do all of the shovelling as well. That guy must have a mole in heaven that lets him in on all of the disasters and catastrophes that are about to take place in our home and he makes sure he is on another continent when it happens. That way I can't really blame him right?
Anyway, yesterday was the day I had to run to the emergency room with my children.
We were having a homeschool haircut day. This means that a really nice lady comes into my home and cuts all of the homeschool heads of hair within a 20 mile radius. There are people coming in and out of the house for 3 solid hours. What used to be a clean house with toys put away and floors clean quickly turns into a house that looks like Santa Clause threw up in it. There are toys everywhere and little people running rampant.
At one point I was on the phone with a friend giving her directions to my house. I had the phone in one hand and the baby in the other. Emma came up behind me and decided to sit down at my feet. I did not see her there. When I turned to walk away I tripped over her.
It was as if my feet were bound with leather straps and I hit my knees first. One knee hitting the hardwood floors and the other knee smashing one of Emma's fingers to bits. If you want to know what the inside of a finger looks like, just ask me. To date I have seen the insides of Aaron's fingers and now Emma's. Nice.
After my knees hit the floor, the rest of my body was on a path for destruction. I dropped the phone which shattered and then my elbow collided with the floor, and then, yes Dear God, Mary Claire's head hit the floor.
It was awful. I instantly scrambled to pick her up and she was crying. Emma was crying as well-or actually, it was really a bloody scream that Emma was doing.
I quickly walked away from all noise and held my baby and prayed instant prayers of pleading and begging.
I kicked everyone out of my home and loaded my van up with my kids. We were off to the ER. When I walked into the garage I discovered that our dog (who was locked away in the garage because there are kids in this world who are afraid of little 10 lb. dogs who will lick all of the snot off of their noses and eat the snack out of their hands) decided to rip up the kitchen trash bag that I threw in the garage just seconds before the first haircut rang our doorbell. There was a mess in the garage but I had no time to clean it up. I would have to deal with the dog later. I let her into the house and started tearing down the street toward the hospital.
By the time we got there Emma had calmed down and by the time we were finally led into a room Mary Claire was cooing and Emma was doing cartwheels down the hall, so as most of my ER visits go, I looked like a crazy woman who had children who were perfectly fine. I am sure the nurses were told to put me on psychiatric observation because my children seemed completely normal. Not a thing wrong.
We had x-rays done on both kids-one of Emma's finger (which is just smashed but not broken) and one of Mary Claire's head (which gave me a clue as to when those little teeth of hers are about to pop through). Both were fine. Nothing broken, nothing fractured, nothing cracked, and nothing life altering.
We returned home to find that the dog had pooped twice in the house because of all of the trash she had eaten.
Today Emma had the pleasure of telling everyone that would listen that her mommy smashed her finger.
I need to call and make sure they spell my name correctly on the "Mother of the Year Award" that I am sure to get from this. I mean seriously.