The last week has brought a bit of fear and adrenaline to my poor old heart. Tuesday night the Boo was playing football...learning to take down all the big dudes when he was thrown down by someone who didn't like the skinny one getting in his way. Seeing the red white and blue laid out on the field I just knew...I felt it in my bones...and then I saw the arm raise up and it confirmed in my mind that it was Boodle. You came out, rested with the medic and looked like you needed to stay off the field...but wait...I thought for sure I heard daddy calling you from the line, but was sure that he wouldn't be doing that...but you grabbed your helmet and ran (a bit off kilter if you ask me) to your position. I wanted to call you back, but by then you were on the ground again and then hauled out of the game for the night with a mild concussion. It lasted close to 48 hours and inside my heart I never wanted to let you leave the house again. You had other plans...back on the field, knocking down the big guys and getting more aggressive by the moment.
Fast forward to the next Thursday (last night). I was sitting in a meeting with the new OIS principal and see that Migli's soccer coach has called...I knew that couldn't be good. Sure enough Migs had gone down on the soccer field, twisted her knee and had to be carried off the field. Coach N had to run to the football field to get daddy cuz neither of us were answering our phones. Dear old dad...always in ripe form...drove his truck right down on the field to pick you up! Today you are on crutches and we will probably have to reschedule basketball tryouts for you, cancel your soccer games and find a fill in for babysitting (or have a few extra kids here tomorrow night!). Bummer on the timing...but hoping for a quick recovery.
And not one to be left out...Ju Ju came home with a big bubble on his top lip! Well...in all honesty it may have been "growing" for a long time. It started out looking like a bitty bump or bite, but not very noticeable. Last night it was way beyond noticeable. We slaved it, hot packed it and finally poked it. Yep, you can call me Dr. Abbott (even though Donie was always hoping I'd be called Mrs. Dr. Abbott). We thought social services might turn up from all the screaming, but we finally talked you into it and even though you didn't want to admit it...it did feel better and you actually liked trying to get stuff out of it (eewww). You came to me this morning all proud with a white thing on the end of your finger...eeww again....this time with no tears and a lip that looked a whole lot better.
I am hoping for a healing weekend with no more surprise injuries...here's to staying safe!
