Blood, Bandages, and Runaways

It's always something around here.

In the past couple weeks, we have endured the following:

1.) Henry running away at Kohls. After several increasingly frantic minutes of searching accompanied by two store employees, I found him in a rounder of clothing. He popped out grinning as if to say, "The terrible twos are here! Get used to it, Mom."

2.) Scott spraining his ankle. Apparently Max laid a trap of slippery slate rocks at the bottom of the deck stairs and Scott, who was carrying plates of hamburgers and who has weak ankles to begin with, fell for it (literally). The ankle puffed up to twice its normal size and took on a variety of lovely colors. The only possible "positive" of this whole situation was that Henry learned a new word. He will now look at me solemnly and say "Ankle" while pointing toward the back yard.

3.) Max taking a nasty spill at Krusi Park. Yes, this is the same place where Max split open his head a few months ago necessitating a trip to the ER. A sane person might wonder, "Why does she keep taking her kids back to this death-trap of a park?" What can I say? It's a fun park when we're not gushing blood. In any case, this time Max fell on his face and received the biggest fat lip I've ever seen. In addition, he tore his frenulum (the little piece of skin connecting his upper lip to his gums). The whole thing bled, A LOT, but I was reassured when I took Max across the street to see my neighbor who is a pediatric nurse. She said that there was nothing they could do for him at the hospital and we should stick with motrin and popsicles at home (a very popular course of treatment). Now, a couple days out, he's looking a little less like a prize fighter, and I'm hoping that he doesn't end up with a scar.

Sigh...