My Wild and Crazy Boys . . .

Ya know how sometimes something you read triggers a memory, or a few, which might just be worthy of the time to write them down?

I was visiting this post today, and hopped over to this one, which reminded me of a few stories of my own.

I was raised with 5 brothers, and no sisters. This could go 2 ways: either I was a spoiled-rotten girly-pants, or I was raised like one of the boys.

I know it wasn't the girly-pants thing. To be sure, I do like girl things - sewing, which my mom taught me to do, and I play the piano, and I love girly-girl baby dresses. But -

Working out in the garden doesn't bother me. Some days I even enjoy it.

I will collect the eggs. (but that's Isaac's job, so I don't have to)

and . . .

If you put, say, a spider in front of me? I will simply squish it.

(Enough said?) ok

So the blood-gush thing (you have to read the post I mentioned above) made me think of all the times I took my boys to the emergency room.

Those were some scary times - like when Jake our oldest was about 2 or three, he was running a fever, and the doctors suspected spinal meningitis. So the decided to do a spinal tap. Ever attended one of those? Not a picnic. (Tests were negative, thankfully)

Then there was Chad. And perhaps this is fitting that it is also about my youngest brother, Josh.

One day Josh, who is 10 years younger than I am, was babysitting the 3 kids that we had at the time. Chad was about 18 months old, which would have made Kayla about 4 and Jake about 6.

They were out in the backyard, hitting around a little ball with a stick. One that was a little smaller than a baseball bat, but with a few knots on it.

I am sure that Josh had his eye on the other two kids, and the ball when he swung the makeshift bat that one. last. time. but in doing so, he smacked poor little Chad with the stick - right in the middle of his forehead.

We came right home when he called, to find Josh and my mom (who lived nearby) holding Chad - and a large cloth - over a gash in his forehead. Thankfully even though he was crying a little, he was alert and not in too much pain. (Head wounds always bleed like crazy - and the blood helped wash out the bark, I'm sure)

To make a long story short, after a long wait in the ER (back in the days before Immediate care centers) he got a few stitches in his forehead that now has become a kinda cool scar up near his hairline.

The person who took the biggest hit that day, though, I think was my brother. I am sure he thought that he had killed him at first. He felt SOOOO terrible - I think to this day, he still feels bad about it.

(It's OK Josh - Chad doesn't even remember it happening, and I forgave you immediately when I saw how bad you felt - )

Then there's Isaac -

He was an incredibly active (that description is inadequate, by the way) little boy. Thankfully, almost on the day he turned 3, he became human, as we like to say. Best way to describe the change . . .

But in the meantime, he was always doing crazy things - dumping stuff, breaking things, falling down.

But this one particular day, he jumped from the arm of the couch to grab the curtains, which of course, were Not on brackets meant to hold the weight of a 25 pound child flying through the air.

So down he went, and on the way he whacked the side of his head on the windowsill and split it open.

Off to the Immediate Care, leaving my husband and the missionaries who had just stopped by that morning (my husband was Ward Mission leader at the time) to clean up the mess.

We soon were back home again, a few stitches richer, but not a single lesson learned.

A little while later, rejuvenated from his nap, he took that same darn flying leap, with the same result!

Thankfully (?) this time, he turned his head in a different direction so he split a different part of his head open. I don't even remember exactly where, any more.

So out the door I flew, with my boy in my arms again - passing by the same missionaries, who had stopped back by for some reason - and I am sure they thought we had (have) the craziest kids in the world - to take him right back to the same Immediate Care Center.

Same shift of doctors and nurses, even.

So you know what happened next, I am sure.

They each questioned me about what happened, and diligently wrote down my answers, which, fortunately, were all the same. (funny about the truth - it is always consistent)

. . . and they all watched Isaac and I interact together, to make sure that he wasn't acting like he was afraid of me. He was pretty much clinging to me, so that was a non-issue. And over the years, with visits for coughs, sore throats, and ear infections on top of the mishaps, now they have gotten to know my little gang pretty well.

Then there was the time he jumped off the kitchen counter (what the heck was he doing up there!?) and split his lip wide open. Of course it was after ICC hours. And of course by the time the doctor saw us, it had swelled up so much that the split and swelled back together. Just a quick look, he's fine, that's $275 bucks, please. That stinks.

I think that if you and your child have been waiting long enough for him to HEAL ON HIS OWN, there should be NO Charge!

Just sayin'!

Then there's Tanner. He is "busier" than all the others, all put together.

One day we were visiting my parents and I told him it was time to jump into bed. My mistake. He takes things so literally.

This is not the bed . . . but you get the idea . . .

So he bashed his forehead into the headboard and split it open right above the eyebrow.

And of course it was after 9 pm. All the Immediate Care Centers in the area were closed.

So, after waiting for at least an hour in a Quiet Empty ER waiting room and another 1 1/2 hours chasing him around the empty ER rooms in the back, I was getting pretty ticked. (plus, having nurses chide me for not keeping him still - huh~! Don't they know what a bored-silly 2 1/2 year old looks like? Heck with the owie - it was healing on it's own by then!)

But after waiting ForEVer, and getting only 2 or 3 stitches in it, the hospital had the nerve to try to charge me about $850 for their work. About 30 minutes, they actually spent with him and me. I should have charged them after that ordeal!

I did protest the bill, and I think I ended up paying about $300.

Then there are all the times that I witnessed all the trials that my brothers put my mom through. But I won't list them all here. Not today, anyway.

All this has made me a pretty tough girl.

. . . on the other hand, if the occasional field mouse gets caught in the trap near their favorite point of entry, underneath the wood stove insert . . .

I will call for Isaac or Tanner to come and get rid of it.

. . . there are exceptions to everything, now aren't there?