Tuesday, April 13, 2010

The Ultimate Fighting Champion...

...or not.

Owen got into a fight with the sidewalk.
I think the sidewalk won.

We can at least tell the twins apart immediately.

He's trooper.

He is taking everyone to the bloody spot on the sidewalk and telling them, "That's my blood."

This all occurred Sunday after church.  He was in a white long sleeved dress shirt, navy blue plaid shorts and...his cowboy boots.  Only a 3 year old can truly rock that outfit.  He had escaped the back yard and was walking on a sand stone edged, raised flowerbed.  He slipped and his face hit concrete.  I happened to be sitting in the living room looking out of the window and I saw him from behind and ran outside.  He was supposed to be in the back yard (we had left the back door open and they were coming and going as they pleased).  He turned around and it looked like his face had exploded.  There was blood on his face, in his mouth, on his white shirt (of course), on his shorts, on his legs.  You name it, it was bled on.  He was freaked, I was freaked, JR was freaked.

We did a 5 minute, "clean up some blood, change your shirt and get everyone in the car" and ran to the after hours clinic.  The didn't think it was broken, but couldn't tell because of the swelling.   They said it was straight.  JR was getting worried in the waiting room and took him away for a bit, because he thought he might go into shock.  I'm usually the calm one, but I was upset.  Nothing major, just a few stray tears.  I was doing my best.  He fell asleep on JR waiting for the doctor.

He sounded like a whistling teapot while he slept.  V came in and asked where the Kleenex's were, and told me she knew why he was whistling (translation HUGE, bloody booger).  She wiped his nose.  Yes that's gross, but she deserved it for what she did later.  I bought him a bouncy ball at WM and she tossed it to him. Remember he's 3 and doesn't catch very well.  He caught it with his face.  Lots of screaming and crying followed.  Yes, by Owen.  No, I didn't beat her, but I wanted to.

He sounded better sleeping.  The bruise is getting bigger and blacker.  He's still swollen.  He's starting to pick the scab.  If you ask him how he feels he'll say he's broken.  I finally got him to say he was bruised instead.

Now I'm off to go play catch with him with a baseball.

I'm totally kidding.

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