Last night (early this morning) -- 4:00AM to be precise (more on this later) -- jolted awake by piercing screams coming from S's room. I hurry in there, ask him what's wrong, and then turn the light on to see the BLOOD in patches all over his pillow. He's clutching his head, screaming, "Oweeee! Oweeee! Oweeee!" I get a washcloth, and, several wipes and rinses later, reveal an inch-long gash at the top of his head, courtesy of the corner of his nightstand. J's arisen by this time, so we do a little consultation, the result of which we decide to super-glue S's head shut. By this time, S is bravely sniffling and giving me interesting facts like, "You know, Mom, in colonial times, they used to put leeches on people to bleed them and pull the diseases out so they could get better. Except it didn't really work. Haha!" This after I told him that head wounds bleed a lot and that it was a good thing so the germs get carried away from his gash. We staunched the bleeding, gently combed his hair away from the cut, and held the sides of the gash together while super-gluing it back together. (Don't worry, medical folks, it was medical super-glue -- not Loc-Tite!) I tucked S in and kissed him goodnight. He slept till 8 this morning.
When he came down to breakfast, between the two of us, we spun a tale of blood, courage, and nighttime wakings (at which point S interjected, "It was 4 AM. It was exactly 4 o'clock. I checked." Who does that?! Who wakes up screaming in the middle of the night, bleeding and in intense pain, and checks to see exactly what time it is? Gosh, I love that kid!), the result of which all four of my boys have matching head wounds. It's about time S got his, right? J was first when, as a boy, his younger brother threw a rock at his head. O was second when he got pushed into a piano bench at Grandma's house by an older brother. H got his from falling off the back of a chair and landing with his head onto the vent behind the chair. And S from sleeping. Ah, life with boys!
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