Saturday, January 5, 2013

Mint and Chip and blood

Now that we have five kids, the maximum number that our van will hold, I'm pretty sure we're done having kids. However, every once in a while when I get the chance to ponder a little bit, I entertain the thought of having one more. I never voice it to my husband. I never say it to myself. It would be too crazy. Too crazy for us. I do think there are families out there that should have five, six, seven, eight, or more kids. But for us I think it would harm our present family at this point in time if we did have more. Like the potty training period. It is horrible. Tonight we had a bad moment with Hector. Oh so bad. It's during these times I am SURE that I couldn't emotionally handle more kids. I'm positive that my husband couldn't either. So here we sit with five beautiful, unique, crazy children and we are trying to weather these little storms without hurting each other too much. One moment everything is wonderful. . . Daddy is dishing up the Baskin Robbins ice cream for everyone while they all lay out their church clothes for tomorrow. La dee da, la dee da! Helen is bathed and all the boys are clean too and in their jammies. Sherman can't contain himself because the ice cream looks so good! "Daddy, where's mine? Where's mine?" he gasps excitedly. "Sherman go run off that energy and I'll have it for you in a minute!" Dad yells. Our kitchen is so tiny two people can barely do anything in it. Sherman takes off down the short hallway at light speed. Meanwhile Cinci is trying to put away a board game in a cupboard and the end of the hallway. He opens the upper cupboard slowly and Sherman's head makes contact with the lower corner of the cupboard door. Boom! He's on the ground crying, wailing, shrieking, or whatever that loud noise is that Sherman makes when he's hurt. And being the evil mother that I am, I ignore him. Cinci said sorry, Sherman said he ran into Cinci. How bad can that be? After a few minutes of sadness I finally have a moment to look at him. He's bleeding on his forehead. Dang it! Atticus is ecstatic! He follows us into the bathroom where I wash Sherman's head off. I look at Sherman's head. Sherman looks at his bloody head and Atticus in the bathroom mirror. Atticus here, Atticus there! "Get outta here Atticus!" It's like having a hyper bouncy ball next to me. I can't concentrate. Sherman cut his head open just above his hairline. No skull showing. Dad, the guy who doesn't see what's so great about doctors, suddenly becomes the doctor. "Well, that same thing happened to me when I was a kid. Basically, there is no need for stitches in this situation. Really, stitches are purely cosmetic in most cases. But since this is above his hairline, there is no need." We clean him up, lay him on the couch, tell him to apply pressure with a paper towel, and Dad feeds him his ice cream while Hector and Atticus reenact the evenings events in the hallway. Then they start talking about the last stitches moment we had. Cinci's bout with Dad. That brought heavy giggles from the Sherms.
  Potty training, stitches, ice cream, etc. Life is busy. 

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