Carter May Have To Get His Own Blog

I know. Two posts in three days. It's a personal best. But once again, Carter has done something truly sensational, and I feel compelled, COMPELLED, I say, to update the world on yet another Freshour folly.

As part of their preschool curriculum at the YMCA, Carter and Griffin have swimming lessons once a week. After changing back into his clothes yesterday, Carter was reaching for his necklace...that's right, I said necklace. He made it in KCZ on Sunday. It has beads on it that read P-O-T. If anyone can tell us which passage of scripture or theological doctrine P-O-T could possibly refer to, please let us know. Anyway, as he was reaching for his necklace, he lost his balance and hit his knee right on the edge of his locker, slicing it open not unlike he did with his head back in May.

Now I'm not a certified medical professional by any means, but over the last couple of months I've picked up some basic wound assessment skills due to the near constant practice at our house. This particular injury looked pretty deep to me. So off Peyton, Carter and I went to Urgent Care to have him checked out. Griffin I wisely left in the hands of his own preschool teachers where he was giving them a run for their money. Let's just say a terse note was sent home detailing his abhorrent behavior yesterday. I wish I had a scanner because it was priceless. Does Not Listen was circled and underlined, and a near tome was written describing his many transgressions of the morning. There was so much naughtiness to share they had to run over onto the back side of the page.

Sure enough, Carter needed stitches. Three of them. Stitched by an older Doctor who seemed a bit loopy. His nurse had to kind of walk him through the procedure. Would you like some wound wash, Doctor? Would you like some Lidocaine, Doctor? Would you like a suture kit, Doctor? That sort of dialogue does not exactly inspire confidence in a mother. Guys, while you discuss exactly how sutures are to be executed, I have a pretty nervous little boy on the table, a baby on my back and WHERE THE HECK IS THAT NUMBING STUFF THEY USED IN THE ER PRIOR TO INJECTING THE LIDOCAINE LAST TIME HE HAD STITCHES? FOR THE LOVE OF PETE, HE'S ONLY FOUR. That, I did ask, but a little more nicely. Over the screams of Carter who was trying so very hard to be good while they injected lidocaine directly into his wound, and the screams of Peyton who was wailing in sympathy. The nurse kind of shrugged her shoulders and gave me a look that clearly said the Doctor had missed a step and now 2 people in the room knew it. The Doctor mumbled something about it not working for this sort of wound. Please. Even if it's only a placebo, placebos work like a charm on a preschooler. And it does work, you loopy old man. Next time, and I have no doubt there will be a next time, I'm stopping them in their tracks on that one.

Carter lived to tell the tale and we got out of there with our lollipops in the nick of time to pick up Griffin...before they auctioned him off to the highest bidder.