At least Adrian was home for it
I never thought this would happen.
I played rough and took spills my entire childhood and never broke a bone. Adrian did the same...no broken bones. Xavier's seven, and while he has had stitches, he's never had a broken bone.
Orian has always been the tough guy. He'd fall and scrape a knee and look up and say, "I'm fine." It was always "I'm fine."
But not tonight.
We took the kids bowling, and were having a great time. If you've never watched children bowl, you are really missing out. It's some entertaining stuff. The boys each have their own style. Xavier puts his fingers in the holes, and then timidly approaches and lets the ball go off in a random direction at the last moment. Orian excitedly carries the ball up to the line and uses all his body weight to roll it forcefully down the lane...all the while jumping and laughing.
Two baskets of chicken poppers, one basket of fries and one of onion rings, one grilled cheese sandwich, two Root Beers, one large Coke, $6 worth of jukebox songs and nine and half frames later we were throwing our shoes at the guy behind the counter and heading out to the Acute Care Clinic.
It was Orian's last frame of the game and he was doing his usual routine. He scooped the ball up and began carrying it out to the lane. He was skipping around (despite constant reminders not to...he gets so darn excited). His foot caught on the step that separates the "sitting" section from the "actual bowling" section. The second we saw his foot catch, Adrian and I both bolted toward him, but neither one of us got there in time (and for the record, Adrian got there before me...damn his physical fitness).
Not only did he trip and fall, the hand he put out to catch his fall ended up smashed between the floor and his bright orange eight pound bowling ball (yes, it was the lightest one they had for the kids). From there his face landed neatly on top of the hand and bowling ball sandwich he had created.
We knew immediately that he was hurt. It's hard to explain, but you just KNOW when your kid is really hurt...sometimes before they actually are hurt.
Adrian scooped him up and hugged him tightly while he cried. His crying was a red flag. There was no "I'm fine." I begged to hold him but Adrian told me no, and he rushed him off to the bathroom check him out.
The palm of his little hand was cut a little bit and bleeding, one of his fingers was puffy beyond belief, and he had a little owie on his lip. Adrian comforted him and examined him for a long time before he brought him back to me and told me that he felt like he needed X-Rays on his finger.
Orian is now home with a "robot arm" to stabilize his fractured finger. Fractured finger. Gah. He's been so tough, though. He keeps telling me that it doesn't hurt and talking about the light from the X-Ray (Adrian informed me that he and Orian are both now sterile, hahahaha). After I had baked the injured baby some cookies (which by the way, were declared the best. cookies. ever.) and brought him a glass of milk we were alarmed to realize that Orian had hurt his...eating hand. Not the eating hand!
In a few days we'll have to take him in to our primary care physician to have his finger looked at again. Until then, I'll be doing a lot of butt wiping and possibly nose picking (it's his picking hand, too).
Here's a pic of Orian and his robot arm (which he has been chewing on already...note the bite marks):
