Definitely NOT your typical Sunday morning at home.

We attend our church meetings at 1:00 pm.  It's a rough time to go to church for all of us.  It means that the boys who rise so early in the morning have almost an entire day of doing not much of anything, just waiting to go to church where they are expected to be quiet and well behaved for three solid hours.

In our house, we general have pretty good mornings waiting around to go to church.  The boys play, the parents drink a lot of diet cokes, and we try to get that crazy little baby to get one good nap in for the day.  But, today was not one of those days.  For some reason, today was pretty stressful from the start.

Maybe it was because the guy who fixed our sprinklers months ago decided to come early this morning to finish the job?  Maybe it was because we did too many loads of laundry and windexed too many windows when we should have been contemplating our salvation or something?  Maybe it was just dumb luck, but for a short period of time today, our little world was sucked into a bit of a black hole.

It all started with a tooth.  Elliott's 6th loose tooth.  The big one in front dangling by a thread.  It was driving us parental units crazy and it was grossing me out.  I had hoped that the tooth would have made it's exit on Saturday night at grandma and grandpa's in an ear of corn but no such luck.  So, with about 30 minutes or so to go before leaving for church, I decided I'd had enough and that the tooth was coming out now!  The details are like the details of every single other tooth extraction - crying and tears; hysterics; kicking and screaming.  This one was a bit more dramatic though because it required mom and dad pinning down a remarkably strong 6.5 year old to get that nasty tooth out.  Two flicks and it was gone and Ross had to rescue it from being swallowed by said boy.  He immediately ran away and the next time I saw him, still red faced and gasping for air, we took his picture and he was fine.

See?  Fine.

 

After this however, the details get more fuzzy and the panic more intense.  It was time to go.  Ross walked the boys out to the car while I was finishing packing diaper and snack bags.  He gave the boys their seating assignments (because of course they fight EVERY SINGLE SUNDAY about who sits where for the 2 minute drive to church) and walked back in the house to get the baby.

Next thing we know, the screamer #2 child is screaming that horrible awful scream as I walk outside, not 30 seconds after the boys headed out themselves.  I walked around the car and saw Wyatt splayed out on the ground like a homicide chalk drawing.  Elliott was sitting in the middle seat, holding Wyatt's booster.  I, not so calmly, asked what had happened and Elliott told me that Wyatt was mad and threw his booster at him and then fell.

He was still "fallen" when I set down all my stuff, squeezed past his open door and picked him up by the shoulders.  I immediately knew something was pretty wrong with his left arm because of the way it was dangling.  When Ross came out with Quinn and shouted, "What is going on out here!" I replied simply, "I don't really know, but I think Wyatt's arm is broken."

After a quick assessment and discussion, Ross decided to stay home with Wyatt and ice his arm and the other boys and I went to church.  About 15 minutes later I got a text that they were going to the hospital because Wyatt couldn't make a fist or wiggle his fingers.

Later, I got this picture.

Long story short?  After almost three hours at the Primary Children's instacare, he came home with his arm in a splint, a sling, and a photocopy of his x-ray.  Small fracture in his ulna, near the elbow.  A splint for a couple of days until the swelling goes down, and then a cast for three to four weeks.

The other boys and I got home from church to a stone faced and silent middle brother surrounded by pillows on the couch watching "Rise of the Guardians" with his very weary looking dad.  He didn't want us to talk to him or to touch him.

He was apparently very brave at the doctor.  After a few minutes of us being home, he decided that he still wanted to go to grandma's house for Sunday dinner.  And, after his regular dinner of pizza and jello, he was looking and feeling pretty good.  Well, as good as a little boy can who, in a rage, broke his arm four hours before.