My brother is a fabulous guy. Yesterday, he came up to spend the day, since he had vacation time from work and well, he loves me. We hung out at the house for a while, then he took our whole crew out for dinner and we went to Marty's softball game.
Here's my brother with Drew. They had a good time hanging out, watching the game. Well, for about three minutes, then Drew was all filled up with his anyone-other-than-my-mommy-time.
My fabulous hubby, swinging at the ball! I don't know if he got a hit on this one, my brother actually stole my camera and took this one while I was tending to Ben.
Why was I tending to Ben, you ask? Well, to put it mildly, Ben is a fun, crazy kid. And sometimes he does fun, crazy things. Like running as fast as he can, and trying wave his arms wildly at the same time.
I'm sure all parents, and most non-parents, have seen the moment when a kid is running too fast and starts to lose their balance. For a while they are fine, but the next step is a little off. they start to try and get their feet under themselves, but can't seem to manage to gain control as their momentum carries them ahead. At this point as a parent, your insides are screaming, "Nooooo! Catch him, he's going down!" But you cannot move quickly enough. And then they start to fall. First the knees, followed quickly by the sides of the ankles, and then the hands, then the elbows, and last but not least, the nose and the head. And if it is on concrete, you can hear the thunk as the disproportionately-large-for-the-body head hits the pavement. You run to them, and have them scooped up and in your arms before the scream comes.
Because you all know that the scream is coming. And the longer the pause before it happens, the worse the injury. And this one was a nice long pause.
I picked him up, even with Drew in the front pack and my camera slung over my shoulder, left Grant and Emma with my brother and hauled him to the bathroom, where a very nice mom got us some ice from the concession stand. I cleaned him up the best I could and we headed back to the game.
You can see in this one how large the knot swelled, his forehead is not usually that shape!
This is why I never take the kids to Marty's games by myself.
Of course, in typical two-year-old fashion, he was off and running in no time. But when we got home, he wanted to use his new Lightning McQueen ice pack, because he had a "bad owie."
Is it bad that I think he is adorable with his ice pack on his poor, swollen head?
This poor child hits his head so often I have memorized the signs of concussion in a toddler, so I knew he was OK. And today he is fine, unless he wants a snuggle. Then he will point to his nose and say, "Owie, owieeeeee!" Then grin and climb up in my lap.
And because I am a sucker for a good cuddle, I baby him and hold him close, saying, "Oohhh, the poor little baby, hit his poor little head!" And I hold him veryverytight until he squirms out of my grasp and runs away, giggling.
Gotta love the injured-toddler games that come with the injured toddler.