Monday, April 22, 2013



Our quiver is full of them.. 
...FOUR to be exact 

With one sweet precious baby girl to complete our crew. 

From the time the boys were babes, they were ACTIVE. Caleb got his first set of stitches at 1.5, his second set at 2.5. Shane has had numerous battle wounds courtesy of his older brother, Caleb or a stunt, trick that didn't quite turn out like it should have. Ian is my more conscious one, mostly acquiring a bump or bruise with nothing too major. Jeremiah is ALL boy, just like his older brothers and I really wouldn't want it any other way.   

They do plenty of things that could lead us to the ER, but for the most part their fearlessness is inspiring.. And sometimes most always, they exhaust the crap out of my adrenal glands.  




 After watching so many wipe outs, and having them come in with missing flesh, bloody noses, mouths, and gravel embedded in various places it shouldn't be.. My nerves are kinda numb, I guess..

-Shane with a pretty funny wipe out-
(Go ahead replay it.. You know you want too!) 

Yep, I'd say- I assess each and every situation, apply pressure or laughter when needed and most of the time yell out for the all mighty New Skin..

Today, was NOT one of those days I calmly assessed the situation. I yelled. And I am pretty sure I dropped a few potty words trying to figure out why the back of Jeremiah's head looked like this-

 Cayte was in the swing. The boys were to be doing their chores. I was upstairs vacuuming our room, Jeremiah was downstairs laying on the spare bed watching Curious George, or so I thought...

It's never good when you can hear blood curdling screams over the vacuum cleaner and music. Ian was crying, Jeremiah was crying. I finally make it to the kitchen. They both were standing there- crying.

"What the hell happened?" 

First potty word dropped. 
Shane and Caleb come running in, tension and chaos increase.  As we all see the stream of blood that has now soaked the back of Jeremiah's head, down onto his shirt. I quickly scoop him up and apply pressure to what looks like the source of where all that blood is coming from. Giving him a dose of Motrin to help ease the throbbing that I am sure is soon to be.

"Ian, what happened?"

Curious George. 
A two year old. 
A eight year old.
Monkeys JUMPING on the bed.

I pull the blood soaked towel away from Jeremiah's head to access the situation. 
LOTS of potty words dropped.

There wasn't enough New Skin in the world to fix this owie.

Dale is at work. I knew I had minutes before the on base medical closed (saving me a trip to the local dirty non english speaking, hours upon hours wait to be seen ER), so I scooped Jeremiah up and rushed out the door. Called Dale on the way.. By this time, Jeremiah was calm. Actually laughing at me as I ran with him in my arms towards the medical building. 

Two duty core-men answer my knock at the back door. And rush me in to an exam room. With first glance, they both almost in unison say he is going to need staples. 

NOT something any mother wants to hear.

Dale finally shows up, and shortly after the Doc comes in from a meeting to see the core-men trying to figure out how to proceed. The Doc changes out of his dress blues and into scrubs and within 20 mins he has numbed and placed N-I-N-E staples in my sweet baby boys head.. 

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