My sweet boy, T, has been getting into so many accidents lately. For 7 years he has been so cautious, barely ever scraping a knee, or getting hurt... It seems he has broken his cautious streak. Jumping off swingsets, slides, falling off of bikes, skateboards and trees. All normal for a boy his age right?
Lord help my nerves.
My worry is that he has inherited my clumsiness...
I. am. a. clutz.
Today I was reminded of one of my
dumbest shining moments.
My best friend, Jeni, who turned 30 this week, is coming to visit this weekend. So that constitutes cleaning (not too much though - she has seen my house in every possible state).
Standing in the kitchen, putting away flatware and cutlery from the dishwasher. I reach in, singing, not paying attention, and slice my finger on a steak knife.
(Have I mentioned that the sight of blood makes me dizzy?)
I get a bandaid and some water (to help with the dizziness) and I remembered the last time I cut myself with a knife.
It was right after Christmas (we drove to Texas that year) and I was unpacking all the gifts we had received. T was six months old, and sleeping snugly in his bed ( I miss those days) and Nate was at work.
Christmas carols playing in the background, the house was a jumble of coats, suitcases and all the great mess that returning home from a trip brings. I was in the kitchen unwrapping a gift from my mom.
It was a gourmet set of cheese knives with a handy little cutting board (Love cheese!). The knives were wrapped in cellophane and nestled into the side of the cutting board. I think a man must have packaged this product - no woman would have put it there... Therefore, I blame this whole fiasco on a man (ha!).
Poking my fingernail into the cellophane pretty vigorously (I was singing Mariah Carey's "All I want for Christmas is You") and whammo, my finger slides right through the cellophane and right into the blade of this shiney gourmet knife.
Instantly there was blood, so I grab a dishtowel and panic.
Have I mentioned that blood makes me dizzy? Oh yes - Well it does. (I am a little dramatic... I have come to accept this)
Those little fuzzy spots start floating in front of my eyes, and the room spins. I blacked out momentarily.
Getting up from the floor in a panic, still clutching my maimed finger in a dishtowel (which probably wasn't even clean!!!) and I do what I knew best.
I called 911.
Operator: "911, what's your emergency?"
Me: *Panicked, embarassed voice* "This isn't really an emergency. I cut my finger and blacked out. Do I need to hold my arm above my heart?"
Operator: "Ma'am, are you bleeding profusely?"
Me: "Umm, I'm not sure... I have it wrapped in a dish towel and I'm afraid to look."
Operator: "Ma'am, please stay calm, I'll send an emergency vehicle out right away."
Me: *Horrified silence* "Gulp. Ok."
Hang up after a few minutes exchaning information etc... Oh my word! What do I do??
I called Nate. "Babe, don't be worried. I cut myself and 911 is sending an emergency vehicle." Silence on the other end. He had hung up on me. (He told me later that he just hung up the phone, told his boss I had an accident, and flew to his car.)
Standing there, still clutching this stupid dishrag around my hand ( haven't looked at my finger yet) and gazed at the discombobulated mess that was my house. I started grabbing things with one hand and shoving them into any available closet.
I hear knocking on my door. I answer.
Lo and behold... 3 firemen stood at my threshhold.
They spill into my house with all their equipment and one asks in an authoritative voice.
"Where are you injured maam?"
I held up my dishrag, trembling slightly.
He brings me to the table, sets down this massive bag filled with medical paraphanelia, and unwraps the rag, listening intently as I tell him what happened.
My eyes were closed, so when he laughed, it startled me and I jumped slightly.
Opening my clenched eyes, I look right into a face that was screwed up into hilarious laughter.
He held up my arm for the other men to see - "This is the best call we've had all month!"
At this point in time, the front door, flings open. It was Nate. Poor guy looked winded.
Mr. Fireman held my arm up like a champion prize fighter and jovially said,
"Don't panic sir! We are going to get your wife a bandaid!"
Yup, all that drama, for a bandaid.
I will never live that one down, and still giggle when I think of it.
(You should feel some empathy for my Hubs... Look what he has to put up with)
I need to have a serious conversation with T about using his head and avoiding sharp objects.
*This story you have read is true. No names have been changed to protect the innocent. Accounts, views and opinions expressed in this blog do reflect the views of the author... She really is that clutzy."