So, where do I begin with my week? It began nice enough. My daughter was surprised, upon entering playgroup, to find two bouncy castles put up. She was just ectastic. I'd known about this for some time, but kept it as a surprise. Then, a few days later, I had a lovely chat with my dear friend, Teddy, who lives back in Boston. Teddy and I have been friends for years and years, and we're highly anxious for his trip to Scotland next week. And then came the toe.
My inquistive two year old son pulled a solid wooden drawer out of a dresser onto his toe. Now, even in the best of times, I'm not good with the sight of blood, and the color changes happening in my son's toe nail was more than enough to send me to the ground. Luckily, a girlfriend of mine lives almost literally in back of us, and she had a first aid kit for me to borrow. After a lovely struggle of holding my boy down so that my husband could bandage his foot, things began to settle down.
The following day the weather was just awful, and, as I couldn't put a shoe my son's foot, I kept both children inside until a mid-afternoon doctor's appointment; we had to make sure everything with the toe was fine. That went well--and, shortly after coming home--we met with the apple.
I was preparing dinner when my nearly four old comes in and announces she has an apple in her nose. Sure, I said, teasing; I'd just before given both kids apple slicces for a snack. The she said it hurt. Uh oh. I looked up her nose, but saw nothing. I took her over to the window, tilted her head, and, sure enough, there was a piece of APPPLE up her nose. And I mean up. I tried getting her to blow her nose. Nothing. I tried massaging her nose. Nothing. I tried tweezers, but, on realize just how far she'd managed to get it, I admitted defeat and planned a trip to the emergency.
After a two hour wait, we finally saw the doctor. We again tried a regime of blowing her nose; she ended up sneezing twice with no dice. Finally, the nurses wrapped her in a blanket like a fajita, and the doc went in with a long, thin pair of tweezers and, at last, out came a piece of apple the size of an m & m. Oddly, after this whole thing, and screaming like a banshee all the while, my daughter thanked the nurses, chose from the stickers offered, and said goodbye.
The conclusion of the week ended with a mouse face. Yes, a mouse face. My husband and I have three cats: Sita, Ollie, and Fifi. Sita was a rescue cat, found years ago wandering the streets of Edinburgh. She's our old girl, very elegant and regal. She can be quite grumpy, so much so that this is the first thing I mention whenever my daughter has a new friend over. Ollie is a lovable rogue. He's very adventurous, but so affectionate. Lastly is Fifi, the newest addition. Although she is incredibly cute, her spunkiness constantly reminds me of why we decided on another cat. Recently, under Ollie's tutlage, she's begun hunting mice and, yesterday morning, while Ollie gazed proudly, she was outside enjoying her very first mouse breakfast. When I finally had the courage to open the back door, there, staring me in the face, was all that remained: a mouse face.
What a week! I need a break.