I Don't Know What Bajeebers Are But I Know I Can Have Them Scared Out of Me.

Last night I got the bajeebers scared out of me.

C was at the Y and needed to be picked up. Big C needed to go to Home Depot. I needed to go to the grocery store. So it made sense to leave the boys at home and do what we needed to do.

Initially. It made sense, initially.

So we picked up C and got our groceries and schlepped all through Home Depot and went on our merry way home -- then the cell phone rings. It's number three, the little one. He is crying and unintelligibly explaining that "he can't see." (Now, he just got over that massive swimmer's ear infection so I've been a little nervous about him lately.) I say, "you can't see?" He says, through sobs, "I hit my head and I can't see."

Um, hello!!??

"Please put big brother on the phone, can you put him on the phone." Pause.
"Hello?"
"What happened?"
"Ah, well he fell over and then hit his head really hard and now he can't see. How many fingers am I holding up?"
"Um, excuse me!!!" Voice is getting hysterical. "Um, hello, he fell over??"
"Well, we were jumping and he fell."
"Jumping? On the ground? He was jumping on the ground and just fell over?"
"No, well we weren't really jumping."

Okay. Hysterics - here. Patience - gone. Voice level - high.

"Okay, son, listen to me. Are you listening to me? Stop being 12. Do you hear me? Don't be 12. You are no longer a 12 year old boy. You are an adult. Speak to me like an adult. Tell me what happened with accuracy and clarity and make some sense and do it now."

Silence.

"Well, we were watching a show and we were being crazy and doing karate chops and he was doing a move and he lost his balance and he fell over and I tried to catch him but I couldn't and he just fell and hit his head really hard. How many fingers am I holding up?"

Okay, now we're getting somewhere and I know what's going on but holy cow! How hard did this child hit his head? A few more minutes on the phone with #1 son and then back on the phone with the little one.

"Are you going to be okay? Mommy loves you! We'll be home in five minutes. Does your tummy hurt? Do you feel like you're going to throw up?"
"I'll be okay. 5, 2, 4. And my tummy doesn't hurt. 9, 10, 3."
"Okay. Good. What are the numbers, what are you doing?"
"I'm telling Kyle how many fingers he's holding up."

Oy vey.

So we get home. All ends up being well, all is fine. Actually turns out that M worries that "maybe he shouldn't go to school tomorrow because if his eyes hurt and he can't see, he can't see the concept board and that would frustrate the teacher and he might get his card turned [punishment for being naughty]." Also, after being offered a slice of pizza (late dinner), he remarks "I still can't see, but I can eat my pizza, because I don't need my eyes to eat pizza, don't I Mom?" So, in the end it becomes a ploy to play hooky from school and a lesson on whether or not blind people can eat by themselves. Reassurance that he's going to be fine and off to bed.

K learns: when self sees brother fall and hit head and brother is hurt, self should call parents because parents would want to know this and not hear it from said injured brother crying on phone, long after said incident. A few tears from K, and a gentle reminder that important lessons are sometimes hard to learn, and a hug and kiss and off to bed.

I have gray hair. Lots of gray hair.