Ryan often yells, "I need privacy!" when he scampers with less and less clothes as he nears the bathroom. Sometimes I am up before the boys and then hear them beginning their day with some mild room destruction and whoops and hollers, and so I'll sit outside their room being terribly unproductive at my early morning to do list, but nicely productive in just listening and smiling. I'll hear the beanbag jumping and the door stopper humming pause and then a, "Hold on, Conor! I need privacy!" followed by the bathroom door closing and the happy sound of a toilet seat opening with no accident in sight.
So that is the preface that led us to the ER on Friday night after poor Conor was a little too eager as Ryan's tag along to the ever-tempting throne and Ryan was a little too overzealous in his privacy door slamming. Kids are resilient. I've always said that about our children. I remember meeting a family at the Naval Academy once after Mass when visiting my brother. Their toddler girl tripped and fell and right away and as I was about to fawn over her non-existent scrapes because she fell maybe five inches, the parents assured her, "You're fine! It's okay!" And she was. That story, combined with the fact that the great majority of my preparation for children came from becoming a part of Chris' rough and tumble family in which you arm wrestle with the sisters as a sign of welcome, has made me a parent who tells my children to growl when they fall.
But. I didn't really know HOW resilient kids were until Friday night. Conor's finger got stuck in the hinge side of the door and by the time Chris got to him and opened the door to release his finger, his ring finger was flat and bent and screaming of pain. It was the most unnatural looking finger I'd ever seen. It was definitely broken. There was no telling him to growl, just a swift, "We are going to the ER!" combined with curse words while nursing that poor babe and trying to change his diaper. Ryan was pretty traumatized that he hurt his baby brother.
Yet, lo and behold, by the time we got to the ER fifteen minutes later and in triage, he was bending the hurt finger in order to be able to double fist his crackers and smiling and running up and down the hallways. Four actually happy hours later, we were told by the doctor that the X-ray showed no signs of a break at all. HOW. Resilient.
And still not at all respectful of privacy ...
although, possibly respectful of doors.
(Also not that important to the story, but Conor was surprisingly dressed in matching clothes when this happened so jumping into the car was not a huge ordeal. We will ignore the fact that at 6pm when this occurred, he (his mom) had never shed the hoodie and too big sweatpants that he slept in because that's all he had left in his drawer the previous night).
(And psssssst, Bonnie was awesome yet again and organized the Sheenazing Blog Awards. At least three kind souls nominated me for the Best Looking Blog, so a deep, heartfelt thank you to you! You can take part in the final voting over here. I've loved finding a whole lot of new blogs to read so definitely check it out).