Wild Boys Life
Hola Wild Boy friends and family, and welcome back to another fantastic update from la Casa de Testosterone. It's been a while, I know. I can explain. I was outside playing. Which means realistically I've been tending to injuries on a daily basis, because I have wild boys.
Now, some of you might not know my wild boys that well. You might think I'm exaggerating a little bit. Because my kids are really and truly incredibly athletic, and you would think that their hand eye coordination combined with athleticism would save them most of the time. And most of the time it probably does. The problem is, they both also crave adrenaline. All. The. Time. So EVERY day they do at least one thing that makes me actually feel my heart stop briefly in my chest. I'm pretty sure I'll die before they graduate from high school, because I cannot imagine this will get any better. Just to recap for the non believers, I've decided to dedicate this blog to a small list of some of the wilder injuries our children have sustained just living a boys life.
When Gavin was almost a year and a half he broke his arm tripping on blocks that were hidden under his blankie. I was working almost five hours away, and by the time I got home he was back from the hospital, arm in a splint, leaping from one couch to another while the Cop tried desperately to corral him. No luck. That boy cannot be contained.
For an entire summer when Gabe was two we called him Scarface because he was incapable of falling without taking all of the skin off of his nose and forehead.
Once the boys were playing tag in the house. Gabe was five. As they ran through the bedroom door Gav shut it behind him, and Gabe ran full speed into the doorknob. On the bright side, we know the ER staff well enough that we had him super glued back together before we were even late for work that morning.
In the spirit of retaliation, Gabe later threw a baseball at Gavin's mouth hard enough to knock out his bottom tooth. Not even a month later Gavin decided to run full speed at a fence to show us how good he was at climbing, but instead ran straight into a cross support and knocked out yet another tooth.
In the middle of a heated game of chase one boy slammed on the brakes, resulting in a head-butting that left both boys with ice packs for a few hours.
Gav attempted to catch an infield pop fly, but got it with his eye instead of his glove.
Gabe went full speed to catch a pop fly with zero regard for the retaining wall that was on the other side of him, resulting in an arm break with minor dislocation, surgery, and our ongoing love affair with Shriners Hospital.
Trying another tactic, Gabe went for a ground ball that took a hop and broke out half of his front ADULT tooth. Hence some expensive dental work.
Both boys sustained head injuries this year trying to cram themselves into cozy coupes they are WAY too big for.
Gavin sliced his leg open while playing tag at school when he slid under the chain link fence. I had to pick him in the office, where at least four other kids who were so traumatized by the event had to sit out of class weeping. That made us slightly less than popular with school staff, admittedly.
As it turns out, the only thing that REALLY scares my kids is the idea of stitches and they have managed to sweet talk the nurses (several of whom they are on a first name basis with) in the ER to just glue them each time. At this point I have told them they are no longer allowed to have glue, and if I have to take them back to the ER it will be for stitches.
What brings all this to mind today, you may wonder? Gabe came down the stairs from where he was supposed to be cleaning his room with a badly gashed finger. How did he manage that while he was cleaning his room? A dramatic pin wheeling fall onto a pair of open scissors. It's like living in the Final Destination movies in this house, I swear to all that's holy. So after containing bleeding I set about to clean the blood trail throughout the house, only to find the dog had beat me to quite a bit of it. As I yelled at her while gagging the cop raised his eyes above whatever he was calmly reading and said "maybe a taste for blood will make her a better guard dog..."
So yes, we spent the last week hiking, playing basketball and tennis. And you can imagine all the first aid that accompanied that, being as we can't even clean rooms without practically necessitating transfusions. Yay for fall break! Next week school starts again, and while I'd like to claim that they're less likely to get hurt there we know that isn't true.
Hopefully this little list helps every parent that's every felt even remotely guilty when their child sustained some minor injury. Believe me, we've pretty much done it all.
Until next time, wish us luck here. Our deductible may be met, but our sick time runs perilously low. Thus is the danger of wild boys life.
Now, some of you might not know my wild boys that well. You might think I'm exaggerating a little bit. Because my kids are really and truly incredibly athletic, and you would think that their hand eye coordination combined with athleticism would save them most of the time. And most of the time it probably does. The problem is, they both also crave adrenaline. All. The. Time. So EVERY day they do at least one thing that makes me actually feel my heart stop briefly in my chest. I'm pretty sure I'll die before they graduate from high school, because I cannot imagine this will get any better. Just to recap for the non believers, I've decided to dedicate this blog to a small list of some of the wilder injuries our children have sustained just living a boys life.
When Gavin was almost a year and a half he broke his arm tripping on blocks that were hidden under his blankie. I was working almost five hours away, and by the time I got home he was back from the hospital, arm in a splint, leaping from one couch to another while the Cop tried desperately to corral him. No luck. That boy cannot be contained.
For an entire summer when Gabe was two we called him Scarface because he was incapable of falling without taking all of the skin off of his nose and forehead.
Once the boys were playing tag in the house. Gabe was five. As they ran through the bedroom door Gav shut it behind him, and Gabe ran full speed into the doorknob. On the bright side, we know the ER staff well enough that we had him super glued back together before we were even late for work that morning.
In the spirit of retaliation, Gabe later threw a baseball at Gavin's mouth hard enough to knock out his bottom tooth. Not even a month later Gavin decided to run full speed at a fence to show us how good he was at climbing, but instead ran straight into a cross support and knocked out yet another tooth.
Gabe, while running through a parking lot with his arms tucked in his shirt proved my famous last word comment "but you won't be able to catch yourself if you fall...."
In the middle of a heated game of chase one boy slammed on the brakes, resulting in a head-butting that left both boys with ice packs for a few hours.
Gav attempted to catch an infield pop fly, but got it with his eye instead of his glove.
Gabe went full speed to catch a pop fly with zero regard for the retaining wall that was on the other side of him, resulting in an arm break with minor dislocation, surgery, and our ongoing love affair with Shriners Hospital.
Trying another tactic, Gabe went for a ground ball that took a hop and broke out half of his front ADULT tooth. Hence some expensive dental work.
Gavin jumped on his bed despite the advisement of all of the warning about what happens to monkeys that do that. He fell off onto a baseball cleat and ended up with a compression fracture of a vertebrae. That visit was particularly fun because at this point all the doctors and x-ray techs knew us well enough to comment on how much poop was in his intestines.
At one point we thought moving them to a slightly more dignified sport like golf would help. But then Gabe hit Gavin in the head with a club.
Gavin got him back by kicking a soccer ball into Gabe's face. Right as we were getting ready to walk out the door for school, of course.
Both boys sustained head injuries this year trying to cram themselves into cozy coupes they are WAY too big for.
Gavin sliced his leg open while playing tag at school when he slid under the chain link fence. I had to pick him in the office, where at least four other kids who were so traumatized by the event had to sit out of class weeping. That made us slightly less than popular with school staff, admittedly.
As it turns out, the only thing that REALLY scares my kids is the idea of stitches and they have managed to sweet talk the nurses (several of whom they are on a first name basis with) in the ER to just glue them each time. At this point I have told them they are no longer allowed to have glue, and if I have to take them back to the ER it will be for stitches.
What brings all this to mind today, you may wonder? Gabe came down the stairs from where he was supposed to be cleaning his room with a badly gashed finger. How did he manage that while he was cleaning his room? A dramatic pin wheeling fall onto a pair of open scissors. It's like living in the Final Destination movies in this house, I swear to all that's holy. So after containing bleeding I set about to clean the blood trail throughout the house, only to find the dog had beat me to quite a bit of it. As I yelled at her while gagging the cop raised his eyes above whatever he was calmly reading and said "maybe a taste for blood will make her a better guard dog..."
So yes, we spent the last week hiking, playing basketball and tennis. And you can imagine all the first aid that accompanied that, being as we can't even clean rooms without practically necessitating transfusions. Yay for fall break! Next week school starts again, and while I'd like to claim that they're less likely to get hurt there we know that isn't true.
Hopefully this little list helps every parent that's every felt even remotely guilty when their child sustained some minor injury. Believe me, we've pretty much done it all.
Until next time, wish us luck here. Our deductible may be met, but our sick time runs perilously low. Thus is the danger of wild boys life.
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