Friday night started off like any other. Not really. Actually, we were still on vacation and Mr. SillyPants and I started dinner prep earlier than usual. He planned steaks on the grill and was on the deck prepping the hot coals and tending to the hyper dog. I pulled out 4 beautiful yellow summer squash for a quick slice and saute on the grill. As usual, Blueberry pulled up his Junior Iron Chef chair and prepared to help cook too. I handed him his kitchen knife (not the sharpest blade in the house, but yes, a blade nonetheless) and handed him his very own yellow squash. You know where this is going, right?
I watch Blueberry work on his squash while I sliced long thin pieces and imagined the glory of them basted in olive oil and garlic for the grill. It was a matter of moments before I heard a loud cry. I saw Blueberry had made quick work on stabbing the hard rind of the squash, only to have cut through a finger. He was holding up his finger, crying, as blood poured readily from the wound. If you know me at all, you KNOW I don’t like blood, guts, vomit, illness, bone, seeping wounds… (it’s a wonder I’ve been married not once, but twice, to doctors!).
I didn’t think it was too bad at first, so I carried him over to the sink, set him on the counter, and wrapped the finger in a paper towel. It bled through quickly. I called Mr. SillyPants in from the deck. He took a quick look, inhaled, and said something like, “this is going to need to be repaired.” He instructed me to put pressure on the wound and went to his phone, saying, “we’re going to the ER, he’ll need a good set of stitches and I want to make sure he hasn’t sliced through the tendon.” I pressed the wounded finger more vigorously, feeling it a little wonky under my fingers. Blueberry wailed a little louder, aware that the crisis was escalating.
Then the winner question. I looked at Mr. SillyPants and said (I kid you not), “oh my god, is his finger falling off?” Mr. SillyPants looked at me like WTF*^% and said, “I hope not! Just put pressure on it, Ms. Plum!” Me, a total trooper in medical crisis. NOT.
We had a calmer boy by the time we reached the ER.I was a calmer mom, too. Mr. SillyPants – he was the picture of calm the whole time. 5 hours later (not exaggerating) Blue had 4 stitches, a little toy Tonka truck, and a heavily wrapped hand.
We stopped for french fries from “Old McDonald’s” on the way home – Blueberry was pleased. Today he has enjoyed the telling and retelling of the trauma. In fact, when we started cooking dinner tonight, he saw the lone yellow squash on the butcher block and said, “I NOT do that one!” and proceeded to pour water from one little tea cup into the other. No knives tonight. (Although I did ask him earlier in the day if he’d like to go outside and help Daddy cut out those garden creeper trees with a hatchet. Sick humor, I know). Trip #1 to the ER – we did ok.