Cut, Cut, Smash

Clark had his first hair cut ever on Friday night. He had a little baby mullet, so I gathered up his wispy, softer-than-soft little hairs into a ponytail and snipped it off. I'm secretly trying to grow his hair long (not sure if Husband approves-- I'm not going to ask), but his bangs are so short that it all needs to even out, so trimming the back is a good step in the long-hair-plan. I saved the hair, of course. For now, it seems like the motherly, sentimental thing to do, but I'm pretty sure that in about 15 years I'll be stuffing it into a voodoo doll.

On Saturday, Clark got his first big boo-boo. He fell down when he was running on a sidewalk and skinned the crap out of his knee. It was quite bloody for a skinned knee. He cried, but he was over it within about two minutes and by the time we all made it back to the car to put antibiotic ointment on the cut, Clark was just annoyed that I wouldn't set him back down to play.

While I was washing Clark's knee off with some bottled water, Elise fell and scraped up her leg from her ankle (which got the worst of it) to almost all the way up to her knee. Unlucky day.

But the weekend injuries didn't stop there. Sunday was the worst.

On Friday Husband accidentally preheated the oven with a plastic container still inside. Plastic melted everywhere, got all over everything when Husband took the warped container out of the oven, and stunk up the house. We meant to clean the oven as soon as it cooled down, but then life happened and we kind of temporarily forgot the whole incident.

On Sunday I cooked chili for dinner and I decided at the last minute to bake some dinner rolls. When the oven beeped that it was done preheating, I flung open the oven door and was greeted with blast of toxic fumes. They floated right past my eyeglasses (or maybe THROUGH them, for all I know) and into my eyes. It burned like a motherfucker. I screamed, dropped to my knees, and hoped that I would be able to see whenever the next time is that I can convince my eyelids to open up despite the searing pain.

Husband ran in to help me, we washed my eyes out in the kitchen sink, and immediately started opening windows around the house. My eyes were watering like crazy, but I could still see, so that was reassuring. While I was in a back bedroom unfastening a window latch, I heard a sickening thud, Husband's voice, a pause, then Clark start screaming. Fuck! So I ran back into the living room to discover that Clark had walked into the front door while Husband was swinging it back and forth, trying to fan the fumes out of the house.

Clark's mouth was filling with blood and he had a CRAZY, pointy knot on the back of his head where he had fallen backwards and hit the ground. I started flipping out, as I am extremely not-calm when my kids get hurt, and decided to take him to the hospital. I was probably also hyper-emotional because I was still dealing with my own injury. It was just a bad situation, all around.

I got about half way there when Clark finally started to calm down, and I started to calm down, so I pulled over for a second to better assess the situation. Clark was clearly alert, hadn't thrown up, and when I shined a light in his eyes, his pupils constricted. So, probably not a concussion. His mouth was still bleeding, but all of his teeth were there and in the correct place, so probably no major dental problems. Clark's lip was swollen and puffy, but when I felt the back of his head the lump was already a bit smaller and less pointy. Okay. Okay. He's okay. I decided to go back home.

Clark got to eat vanilla ice cream and a bowl of frozen whipped cream for dinner, as he wouldn't let us put an ice pack on his lip and that was the best we could do. Today, the lump on the back of his head is much smaller, his lip looks normal, and there is hardly the faintest shadow of a bruise on his mouth.

About three times yesterday and then once today Clark said to me, "I mad!" (We teach the kids to say "I'm mad" instead of hitting each other or throwing a temper tantrum.) Each time I've said, "I'm sorry. Why are you mad?" and each time he's touched the back of his head and said, "Boo boo head!" Poor little guy. Very articulate for a 17 month old. I think his brain is working just fine.

Husband's really upset about the whole thing with Clark, as he feels responsible. It was an accident. And Clark won't even remember it.

Crazy weekend. Glad it's over.