The cast is off!

 

Yesterday Wyatt got his cast off.  He was so excited and it was a pretty interesting thing to watch.  We're happy to have his arm back - and to have some warnings from the doctor:  no trampolines, scooters, running, jumping or being crazy for at least two weeks.  I'm good with that.

His arm was scrawny and scaly and mighty stinky.  He of course started itching and scratching the second it was off, and had a few spots where he scratched until he bled.  And all the dead skin is slowly sloughing off.

But, he survived and than goodness it was only for 3 weeks.  Longer would have been too gross to handle.

a night I don't remember

On Monday night, Ross and I had been up talking before drifting off to sleep.  I remember telling him that my blood sugar felt low and that I needed to go downstairs.  I vaguely remember telling him that I needed help getting down the stairs.  I do remember being soaked with sweat and freezing cold.   I also vaguely remember being on the floor in my bedroom.  I do remember sitting sleepily at the kitchen table with a piece of toast and dragging my exhausted legs up the stairs, and being quite surprised that Ross was still up, because I had a sense that it was sort of late.

What I don't remember is telling my husband that I couldn't make it down the stairs and sort of collapsing onto the bedroom floor.  Or that he brought me a can of coke that I wouldn't drink - that he had to force me to drink.  Or the shaking body and incoherent mumblings.  Or that he was so nervous about me there were two points where, he said, he was about to call an ambulance.

Yep.

Don't remember that.

I do know what it felt like when I got out of bed on Tuesday morning.  It felt like I had been hit by a car, or even though I've never had one, what a hangover after a night of binge drinking would feel like.  Aches and pains in places you wouldn't figure, migraine headache, the works.  I just wanted to spend the day curled up in a ball under a warm blanket.

Blood sugar is a funny thing.  Keeping that magic little number in the right place is so hard sometimes.  Ross and I figure that I must have done the wrong insulin before going to bed and didn't realize it.  And that it sent my number into the teens and that, even though I don't remember I was spiraling pretty fast to a very dangerous place.

Good thing he was there to help me.

Annual Cousin Visit!

 

For the last three years or so, every August Ross' brothers family makes the pilgrimage from Arizona to Utah for a week.  Ross' brother and his wife go to education week at BYU and we get to spend a lot of time with their kids.  This year, Isaac, my oldest nephew came up to Utah a few days before his parents and twin brothers and we got to take him on a lot of adventures.  Then, when the rest of the family arrived, we added two more little boys - six in total, and had ourselves a few more days of fun.

The short list of activities:

Swimming at my grandpa's pool

Bee's Baseball Game and fireworks with Uncle Ross

Family Dinner and mini Uno tournament

Lots and lots of playing at grandma and grandpa's house and at our house

Quality time in front of the TV watching Scooby Doo!

Dinosaur Museum at Thanksgiving Point

Church History Museum and lunch at City Creek

Early Birthday celebration dinner at Hires for Issac and Quinn -they share a birthday, September 2.

I think the highlight of the week was the grand adventure with Grandma and Grandpa.  The three big boys packed a bag and rode trax downtown with Ross' parents.  They explored Temple Square, rode trax in the free zone, ate dinner at California Pizza Kitchen and spent the night in a hotel.  They also got some pretty premiere treatment in the concierge lounge and Wyatt came home raving about his new favorite drink - a shirley temple, and favorite dessert, chocolate mousse.

My boys absolutely love their little twinner cousins.  In fact, all they can talk about is, "The twins", "The twinners" and "Mom, you know when the twins did...."  It's pretty fun to see them interact with the little guys.  My boys are so good to their baby brother, and all little farts for that matter, but there is a special place in their heart for little Luke and Jonah.  And, that little baby of mine, isn't so tiny because he's nearly the size and I think he weighs more, than his two and a half year old cousins.  I know that the little tank is going to thin out soon, but for now, I'm lovin' those thunder thighs.

It was a great and exhausting week.  Spending 11 days straight with your cousins you don't get to see very often is so exciting and so much fun.  We'll be able to head down to their neck of the woods in February (I think) so we can have some more exciting adventures.

The Color Run!

The race I signed myself and my brother up for in the early spring was The Color Run.  I knew it would be easy and low key, something fun to do, and a good introduction to the world of "running" for me.  Well, running didn't happen and once I knew it wasn't going to happen, I roped my sister into walking it with me, and our little sister Emily decided to join us as well, even though she wasn't sure if she was going to run or walk.

The race was today.  It was downtown.  It was an absolutely beautiful and cool summer morning.  There were close to 10,000 color "runners" of all shapes and sizes ready to have a great time and inhale some brightly colored cornstarch along the way.

Haley and I walked the 3.1 mile route, with a bathroom break, in a little over 40 minutes.  Willie ran it in 24 minutes and was one of the first handful of people who were finished.  Emily did it in a little over 30 minutes and then walked back on the route until she found us old lady slow pokes.

It was great fun.  It would be a really fun family tradition to start.  It was a great way to spend a beautiful Saturday morning.

Pre-Run

The Finish Line

Post Race, Willie thought he was an eagle?

My little brother and me...we even sort of look....similar?

Haley definitely got the brunt of the color - she was absolutely covered from head to toe like a rainbow threw up on her. Willie and I managed to escape a lot of the color madness during the run, probably because we were so much taller than all the volunteers spreading the color love.

a fish tale

 

On Tuesday night, Elliott went to a birthday party.  It was a swimming/beach themed party and he wore his swim suit.  He came home two hours later bouncing through the roof, mostly because of his party favor.

A little teeny tiny goldfish.  I was not thrilled, to say the least.  In my mind, this was in no way a "favor", and the anti-animal mother that I am, immediately started telling my kid that the fish was going to die.  I mean, come on.  It probably wasn't going to make it through the night, we had no fish bowl or fish food, and regardless of it's little will to live, there wasn't much hope.

A few minutes after I posted a picture of the fish on instagram, the mother of another party goer offered to bring over some fish food and I accepted.  We put the little guy in a very big vase, fed him and went to bed.

Wednesday morning, he was still swimming.

Thursday morning, he was still swimming.

Thursday night, late, after the kids had gone to bed I was up working on a project for my mom.  It seriously felt like the fish was staring at me, or at best, willing me to look at it so I stopped the project and turned from the kitchen table to watch it swim in it's home on the island.  It's swimming pattern was strange.  It looked frantic.  It would struggle to swim to the bottom of the bowl and then float up a little...and then desperately try to get to the bottom again.

I texted Ross who was upstairs: "I think the fish is dying!"

He came down and we started talking, me keeping an eye on the bowl the whole time.

As we were talking about my project, I saw the fish stop struggling to stay at the bottom of the bowl and float towards the top.  I interrupted Ross and said, "look!  It's dead!".  He said, that maybe it was resting and we should give it a minute.  I told him no, that it was dead.  What is it about fish?  They are creepy to begin with but as soon as they die, and their little fishy souls leave their bodies, their eyes are super creepy.

Anyway, upon my fervent insisting, Ross agreed that yes, the fish was dead but asked if he could finish his milkshake before flushing it down the toilet.  I obliged.  That seemed like a fair request.

The next day, yesterday, we got up and were busily getting ready to take Wyatt to school.  Elliott stayed home.  When I got into the house, put Quinn and my bag down, Elliott said to me, "Mom, where did you move my fish?"  I told him that his fish died, and that dad flushed it down the toilet.  We talked briefly about why little goldfish don't live very long.

I thought he might cry.  He's a sensitive little guy sometimes.  But, he walked away from me, and went upstairs.  He came down with a couple sheets of white paper, got out his crayons, and drew and cut out two beautiful fish that we taped to sticks and used as puppets for the rest of the day.  I suppose it was an homage to our little fish friend.

This is getting a little too real.

I suppose that, upon having a little brother, and being a Mormon, the possibility of that little brother going on a two year mission when he turned 19 was very real.  Not real enough that I actually ever thought about it, but real nonetheless.  Now, spending the last eighteen and a half years cheering that little brother on through all his accomplishments, being considered his mom a time or two, and spending hundreds upon hundreds of dollars feeding him the last few years has gone by a little bit too quickly.

Okay, a lot too quickly.

That "little brother" of mine isn't so little anymore.  His mission papers are nearly complete.  All he has left are his interviews with the bishop and stake president.  He told us the other night that he thinks he wants to leave before Christmas!  Did you hear that gasp and sucking of wind on Wednesday night?  It was me and my sister having the wind knocked out of us a little bit when that baby brother of our said he wanted to leave before Christmas!  Egads!  Who does that to all his mothers, anyway?

Well, it makes sense if that's what he really wants to do - that way he'll be home before Christmas two years from now and be able to get right back into school and all that jazz.

Anyway, as much as I am proud of him for all the great things he has done and is doing, I will miss him terribly while he's gone.  It's funny that the little kid you feel like you helped raise is all of a sudden a grown-up with a job and is a soon to be college freshman.  Someone who you don't have to pick up from school anymore, but have grown-up conversations with.  Someone who drives and who may have gotten granola bar on his suit pants this afternoon and because he didn't want to get dirty he jumped out of his car to eat his granola bar and forgot to put said car into park and left his sister rolling down the driveway.

But that's a story for another day.

As part of the submission process, he needs a picture.  He asked if I would take his picture.  I told him he could just do a selfie with his phone, but he wanted "glamour shots by deb Annie" so I had to oblige.

In about 15 minutes I took 42 pictures and we ended up with about 10 or 12 that he really liked, that we thought might make our  mom cry because her baby boy is so handsome and so grown up.

It's just that "grown up" part that I'm having a hard time with.

An e-mail exchange....

 

In my immediate family, we have a daily e-mail exchange.  Whomever is up first, sends the first e-mail, usually my sister or me.  My dad, in general, never responds but we know he reads them.  Unless he has something really important to ask, like if I have a book he needs or something.  He used to only write in ALL CAPITAL LETTERS but now he usually writes without yelling at us.  My mom, if she writes back, writes very late in the day, or a day later when she finally has the chance to catch-up.  Or, she just texts us.

We've been exchanging our daily e-mails for years.  I don't even know when we started, but I always look forward to it.  Basically, it's just a run down of our day, something that's happened in our lives or family, or sometimes, if Haley is having a bad day, it's just a conglomeration of numbers and symbols.

Or, a "Rrrraaaarrrrrhhhhhh!"

Or, if I'm having a bad day, just an "ug!"

Now that my brother is an "adult" we've decided to start including him on the e-mails.  He is pretty entertaining, telling us about the weirdos he mows the laws with as part of his job with the Granite District outdoor maintenance crew.

Today though, I got a chuckle and wanted to share a brief exchange.

Haley: Then, we went to Payless to buy ballet and tap shoes, tights, and a second pair of shoes for jackity jack.

Mom:Was Molly excited about ballet and tap shoes?

Annie: I'm excited about ballet and tap shoes.  I want a girl, too.

Willie:  I'm more excited about the tights. Can someone buy me some too. 

 Haley can I have some snicker doodles

Mom: Willie, You have tights --

   

I guess he was a little bit hungry..

So, lately Wyatt is a pretty hungry kid.  His hunger plus his limited, self-imposed picky diet, don't leave a whole lot of food options.  We've had to set rules that he can only eat chips once a day and he can only have dessert at night if he eats "real food" for dinner.  Real food being something other than yogurt.

Here is a list of everything Wyatt ate between 8:00 - 11:30 in the morning.

Entire slice of coffee cake.
A bag of cheetos.
2 small glasses of sunny delight.
Graham crackers.
Cup of mandarin oranges.
3 slices of pizza. 
Big glass of water.

An hour later, he is telling me that he is hungry again.

a few things...

Last Friday, Ross took the afternoon off of work.  He came home early, picked Elliott up from school, and we got ready to head out on a little adventure.  We were headed to the zoo and to get dinner and to shop for some new shoes for Elliott.

We got to the zoo at 3:30 and I was pretty shocked at how crowded it was for such a late afternoon.  The zoo is only open until 6:00 I think, but it was packed.  And, the zoo is under construction (always) and so the exhibits that are open feel extra crowded.  And, I don't think that I've ever been to the zoo in the late afternoon before because we always shoot to be the first ones there as soon as it opens in the morning.

That being said, it must have been scary day at the zoo.  I cannot remember the last time I was surrounded by such icky people.  Really, I hate to pass judgement and don't know anything about any of the people that were there, but it was gross.  Women covered head to toe in tattoos and baby doll dresses screaming at their children.  Toothless and stinky men and bra less tipsy women.  Lots of big families who didn't have control over a single child.  Lots of parents who were there to let the zoo babysit.  Lots of pregnant and nursing women.  Lots of yelling.  Lots of little girls barefoot and in swimsuits.

The zoo recently opened a little splash pad, and as with all splash pads and parks, I'm not a fan.  I'm a germ-a-phobe and I don't believe in letting my kids get soaking and sopping wet in their clothes, especially when they still have to walk the entire zoo and especially when we are doing stuff afterwards.  It's not judgement, it's just me.  I'm not a fan.  If you are, I'm cool with that...just watch your kids.  

When we got to the otters, there is a hollow log that the kids can walk through.  Wyatt decided to do it. On top of the log was the soaking wet, out of control, too big for the hollow log, probably 12 year old girl, jumping.  A stranger, not associated with the little girl, but who had seen Wyatt's casted arm, started yelling towards her, "Be careful.  Stop jumping.  Be careful, there is a little boy with a ...." and just as he was about to say "cast", spaz girl jumped off the top and smashed my little 4 year old with a full arm cast into the ground.  He of course, screamed bloody murder and tore some skin off his good arm and both his knees.  The little girl?  Stared at Wyatt as if it was his fault, and ran away to her parents.

Yeah, the zoo was awesome.

I mentioned a few weeks ago in a post that Grandma Judy has a quail sitting on a nest of 9 eggs in her front yard flower bed.  She is keeping a close eye on the mama to be, and when we were over for dinner on Sunday, got all the kids a good look at the quail sitting on top of her eggs.

On Sunday night, after putting the big boys to bed, Ross came into our bedroom and told me that he and Wyatt had an interesting conversation after Elliott fell asleep.  Out of nowhere, Wyatt asked, "Dad, does mom have eggs?"  Not sure where the kid was going, Ross said "No, why?"  Luckily, the conversation was derived from the mom quail sitting on her eggs and Ross and Wyatt had a great conversation about animals that lay eggs versus animals that have babies born alive.  And thank heavens, whatever the answers were, they made sense to his little brain and the questions subsided.  We are not prepared to have "that talk" with a four year old.

For almost a month now, I have had a cough.  Not just any cough but a dry, hacking, rip out your guts cough.  At least three times a day, usually more, I am rendered completely immobile from the coughing.  I cannot even describe what it sounds like, but I can tell you that last week, I coughed so hard that I had to run to the bathroom because I was inches from throwing up.

My ever supportive husband has been telling me to go to the doctor for my cough.  He tells me I have "The most unproductive cough ever" and that I am coughing because of "post nasal drip".  I snuff my nose at him and tell him that I do not have boogers, or dripping, or anything else.  No sinus infection.  No anything.  I just am coughing like there is no tomorrow.

It's the worst at night.  I sleep with cough drops in my mouth, and haven't had a nights sleep that has been uninterrupted by coughing for about two weeks.  It's crazy.  I cannot lay down, water doesn't help, it's just a big pain in the butt.

I finally broke down last week and told Ross if he made me an appointment that coordinated with when he could be home with the boys, I'd go to the doctor.  I have about a million other little things wrong with me anyway, so I could go with a laundry list.

The appointment hasn't been made yet, but it might not have to be.  Last night, I had to go and pick up two prescriptions from the pharmacy drive-through.  One of the prescriptions was my blood pressure medication that I've been on for two months.  As I was finalizing my transaction the pharmacist came over to talk to me through the microphone.  He asked me if the blood pressure medication was working.  I said, that yes, I thought it was.  He said, "good.  Have you had any side effects?"  and I replied with a no, that I didn't think I was having any side effects.

He then said to me, "Have you been coughing?  Like a real dry, hacking, "unproductive" cough?"  I looked him in the eye and said, "YES!  I HAVE BEEN COUGHING FOR WEEKS AND ITS KILLING ME!!!!"  We traded a list of symptoms and he told me that the cough I have is the main side effect of the blood pressure medication I am taking and that, if it is really bothering me, I should have my doctor prescribe me something different.

How crazy is that?

When I got home, I told Ross that I had learned something getting my prescription.  At first, he didn't believe me.  And then, it was nice to be a little bit vindicated....my "unproductive cough" isn't because I don't have good coughing skills at all.

Knowing when to be a quitter

In February, I joined a gym.

In late February, I signed my brother and myself up for a 5k in August.  I thought that it would be a good idea.  I thought that it would be the right motivation to get me moving and physically active.  I really thought that with months, literally six months of "training" I would be able to will my body to run 3.1 miles.  My brother, who is Captain Fitness these days can run a 5k in 22 minutes.  I should have known that I was in trouble from the start.

First let's talk about my accomplishments:
When I started in March, I could not run more than one minute on the treadmill without gasping for air and thinking that I was going to die.  I started slow.  Now, I can run a mile in 13:00 and think that in a few weeks, I can do a 12 minute mile and not be dead.  For me, that's going to be pretty fast.

I can regularly, on a treadmill, jog for 30 minutes.  I don't enjoy it, and it hurts really bad, but I can do it.

Three weeks ago, I actually did a 5k at the gym and it took me 46 minutes exactly, where I jogged 30 total minutes and walked 16 total minutes.  It killed me and I could not walk for three days after, but I did it.  I thought that I was there.

I've been lifting weights and am seeing some muscles slowly appear in places they haven't been for quite some time.  A month ago, I did lift an 80 pound bag of dry cement out of my car, so I was pretty proud of that.

Now, lets talk about the rest:
In the six months that I have been exercising and trying (admittedly not as hard as I could or should) to watch what I eat, I haven't lost a single pound.  That, all you skinny, "I've taken up running and lost 30 pounds" people, really ticks me off.

I hate running.  My body hates running.  I've had ankle problems, my right knee has ballooned to twice the size of my left knee, I douse myself in icy hot before I go to bed at night, and my back hurts sometimes...but that might be because I sleep weird, and not because of exercise.

I knew that running on the treadmill was very different than running outside.  People have been telling me for weeks that it is SO MUCH EASIER to run outside.  So, last week I tried it.  Granted, I started out up hill, but I died.  I ended up walking most of my "run" and when I got home, I was defeated, and soaking wet with sweat.  I decided to give it a couple of days, go back to the gym and then try it again.

The "try it again" was Saturday morning.  I got ready and walked to the park by my house.  It has a track.  I know that about three times around the track is a mile and I know that I can easily run a mile on the treadmill so my goal was to make it 6 laps, jogging as much as I could.

After three laps I came home.  In tears.  I was defeated.

I am not a runner.
I am not a runner!

In three laps, my hands and fingers swelled to twice their size.  The neuropathy in my feet was so painful that I lost all feeling in the toes on my right foot.  My heel pain (caused by diabetes) was so intense that I was on my tippy toes...tippy toes of numb toes.  My knee was swollen and I was hurting.

I felt so stupid.

Once home, I pouted for a while.  I shed a few more tears.  "Running" is supposed to be easy.  Everyone is a "runner".  I'm not a quitter.  I thought that if I put my mind to something, I could do it.

After a good long shower and an even longer look at myself in the mirror I came to a few conclusions.

1 - There are a lot of things I am good at.  Running is not one of them.  I will no longer try to run more than a mile on a treadmill.
2 - I need to find a new exercise plan because my current plan hurts my broken body and isn't giving me any tangible, motivational results.
3 - I will walk the 5k.
4 - I tried at something that was really hard for me and I was not good at, and I made progress.  I still am not good at it but I should be proud of my progress because I'm healthier now than I was 6 months ago.
5 - I am not quitting exercise, but I am quitting "running".
6 - It's okay to fail at something.  It sucks and it is embarrassing, but it is okay.

As I was talking to my family around the dinner table on Sunday afternoon, I shared my thoughts on this whole experience and told them that I was thinking about my grandmas and, if my grandmothers were alive...

My Grandma P. would say to me, "Well, you tried and you gave it your best and you should be proud of all your hard work."

My Grandma Huber would look me in the eye, laugh a little and say, "Well, I don't know why the hell you signed up for something that dumb anyway!"

Yes Grandma dears....you are both right.

Quinner:: 11 months

Better late than never in your monthly update post little guy.  Sorry.  I'm not really sure where to start except that every where we go, when people see you, when they haven't seen you for a while they say, "oh my gosh, he is so big!" and your dad and I agree.  When people see you that haven't met you before, they automatically assume, because of your size, that you are at least one or older and then they seem disappointed and think you're a little slow when you don't do knuckles, or show them one finger for your age, or you know, answer their questions about Shakespeare.

Ya just can't win kiddo.  Sorry about that.

You can though, do lots of things.  Shall I list them?

You can eat dirt and paper and soap.

You can crawl on hot concrete and not be affected in the slightest by the heat.

You chase bees.

You point to animals, airplanes, and your brother's bedroom when I rescue you from your cage in the morning.

You love to go for walks in the stroller.

You throw major temper tantrums when dad and I tell you No!

You love to play in the water and have baths in the big bath tub.

You love to eat and lately, you love pretzels the most.

You can go all the way up the stairs and then stand at the top landing and yell at me to come and get you.  You cannot however, go down the stairs and sometimes, you try to go up the stairs standing and using the railing for support and it freaks me out.

You love Uncle Willie.

You are a little scared of cousin Jack because he always hits you....even though I think it's out of love.

You can pant like a puppy, pop your lips like a fish and when I make a hissing sound like a snake you giggle.

You are really good at throwing things on the floor, putting items in containers and eating food cooties under the kitchen table.

You have a great laugh and a loud cry.

You love to be outside.

You love to watch the garbage truck on Friday's.

You are getting to be a decent napper even though I'm pretty certain the luck of two naps a day is wearing off.  You'll sleep for about 90 minutes a day - and that is divided between two naps, sort of.  I'll take what I can get and some days our house is so loud I don't know how you sleep at all.  You still wake up at least once a night and your awesome-sauce dad gets up with you.  You are a lucky boy.

You get really excited in the car when the boys pay attention to you and when we pick Elliott up from school.  You also get really annoyed being in the car when you are all alone with me, or when you are tired.

You are only drinking a few bottles a day and mom and dad are excited that we've only got a few more weeks of formula, then on to whole milk.  It will blow your mind.

You are walking along furniture and when we hold your hands.  However, it's all on your tip toes and the pediatrician said we need to get you some heavy shoes to drag those heels to the ground. You've never worn shoes, or socks really so I'm not to anxious to cover up your feet.  I think that they are cute and like to breathe.  But, I'm pretty tired of crawling - it's so dirty, and so pushing your towards walking is probably the right move.  Then you can really get into trouble.

The last 11 months have gone by so quickly.  When we were deep in the throws of newborn land, I'm pretty sure your dad and I were just lost and confused and time probably felt like it went pretty slowly trying to figure you out.  But now, when you are on the cusp of ONE, I wish time would stand still just a little bit so I can savor that last bit of baby that's in you.

Seriously big guy.  Slow down!

missing shavy jones

We sold Shavy Jones at the end of April.  As sad as it was to sell the best summer adventure ever, it's really been okay and just thinking about all the work involved and wondering how we would have fit it in this summer is a little overwhelming.

On Friday night, we ventured out and had our first shaved ice of the season.  It's August and our first shaved ice!  Holy cow!

 

We went to a place close to home that we know has the same kind of machine's as us and they cheat and make their own ice like we used to.  The ice was really good.  Soft just like snow.  The flavor?  I got my favorite lime rickey and it just wasn't that great.  Of course, I ate the giant thing and blew my blood sugar through the roof, but I just sat there wishing for my Shavy Jones.

Oh well.  Life goes on.

But, baby got to have his first taste of shaved ice and like with everything else, he loved it.  That kid has yet to find any food that he hasn't loved.

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.