The two week school holidays have commenced. We've had an interesting start to it.
First comes the rain. It starts on Friday night, and by Saturday, everything is wet, wet, wet. Yes, I feel it in my fingers...I feel it in my toes... However, we choose not to allow a little bit of rain to spoil our plans. We forge ahead.
Hubby heads off to buy a mattress for our 2 year old so said toddler can move in to a "big boy" bed. I'm not sure I'm ready for this. Not because I'm concerned about saying goodbye to the baby years or anything like that (I'm letting go of that with remarkable calm, and with some degree of relief). It's more about the fact that I won't be able to contain him in the one area in the house I could anymore.
When Hubby returns, off we go to look at a few houses. (We're planning on moving in the next few years - but we're doing a bit of background work first - a bit of "tyre-kicking", so to speak.) I view three properties, Hubby looks at two (he misses the last as he takes our 7 year old off to a "surfing party" at the beach. An interesting concept, considering it's about 12 degrees outside and howling winds persist).
Running from car, to house, to car whilst looking at houses is quite an effort in the rain, and thinking about the owners, I am insistent that the boys should wipe their feet like crazy on the front door mats, otherwise we will well and truly leave our mark...on their carpet. We walk around the homes and my boys hold a running commentary.
"We're not going to buy this one, are we? It doesn't have a pool!"
"Ewww. This bathroom is disgusting!"
"What's in this cupboard???"
"Oh, look! A disco ball in the garage!" (Three boys dancing madly follows.)
Finally, we are home to the warmth of our house. It's then I receive a call from Hubby. He had been watching our 7 year old "surfing" at the surf party (for all of 5 minutes. Let's just say my 7 year old is not the toughest kid on the block, and yet, today I am not judging considering the weather), but, as it soon becomes apparent, has left for the next stage of the party "Uh. I was just taking a look at a car yard on our way to meet the others at MacDonald's after the surfing lesson, and [the 7 yr old] was walking on a ledge and he's fallen about a metre to the ground and knocked himself out for a couple of minutes." The 7yr old had walked the ledge, despite Hubby telling him all of two seconds before that he shouldn't. And then Hubby says, "You won't be able to contact me. He was carrying my phone at the time and it's smashed." It's only later I lament that another $220 is going to have to be forked out for replacing the glass on this damn phone. Hubby had already dropped it himself once before!
But I'm not thinking about that now. Hubby is wondering whether to get an ambulance or head straight to the hospital himself, and decides on the second option.
My 5 year old walks in to the study just as I hang up the phone, and asks if I can help him with the Star Wars game he's playing on the Wii? I explain I can't do that right now - his big brother is hurt and is on his way to the hospital. I make a call to the surf party host and leave her a message to explain our son will not be meeting them at Macca's (in case they become concerned - they do). After I hang up, my 5 year old asks, "Now can you help me on the Wii, Mum?" I take a deep breath. Count to 10. 1, 2, 3, 4... "No. Not now", I reply in my stern do-not-ask-me-again voice. Ten minutes later, as we gather our bags etc together, ready to head to the hospital, he asks, quite matter-of-factly and without a hint of concern for his brother really, "Is he dead?"
I gather him up, together with my 2 year old (whom I have woken from a beautiful sleep) and off we head to the Emergency department. Access, and then parking, is a nightmare, but we finally find our way and walk as quickly as possible through the corridors.
Phew. This is getting long...I'll post Part II tomorrow and give you a breather! Stay tuned...
Until next time...