Ethan and his home-made crafting skills
Last night was Monday night and that means family night at our house. I was feeling sick and didn't know if it would even happen. We threw something together and it all went smoothly, bloody nose from Ethan and all.
Now, just so you know, my sons ( well, Ethan and Jonah) have nose bleeds all the time, so we treat this like a sneeze around here. A bloody nose? Oh, you poor guy. Go get a kleenex. They used to get them all the time at night and would wake up and just cry and cry, blood spurting- all over pillows, pajamas and blankets. I would always wonder why they were crying and by the time I got out of bed and to their side the damage had been done. Finally, I taught them to say "Mom! I'm bleeding!" Those two words would get me out of bed faster than a bird going for the kill on a fresh worm. I would get there and not a thing would have been dripped on!
And all this for a Mom who hates, hates, hates blood/needles/Drs/Hospitals/school nurses. Maybe Heavenly Father is teaching me patience. I buy the kids/myself a treat after every Dr. visit. I need some chocolate when I am done!
I've gotten phone calls from the school nurse numerous times.
"Mrs. Abbott?"
"Yes?"
"This is so and so, the school nurse." (You would think I remember her name. Nope.)
Now I am thinking, Oh, no, it's another bloody nose.
"Insert-appropriate 5-6 yr-old-twin-boys-name-here has a bloody nose. There is blood ALL OVER (she has said that several times). Can you come and bring a clean shirt?"
"Ok!" I say
I hang up, frantic to get to the school.
The phone rings again.
"It's me again. And a clean coat?"
"I'll be right there" I reply.
This happened last year, when Asher was still napping. I stress. I call Aunt Ellen to come watch Asher and hurry to the school with new clothes. When I get there, I see four very small streaks of blood on Jonah's shirt. And I was worried over THIS Blood ALL OVER? I don't think so! She hasn't seen anything yet!
And the best part of last night's bloody nose? I go into the bathroom, where we had sent him to get more kleenex- blood. All over!
The walls, the floor, the toilet seat, the trash can, the sink, the tile. I squealed!
And I wondered. Maybe my six year old isn't old enough to take care of his own bloody nose. Maybe I could have put down the picture of the temple and helped him.
Or maybe not.
This is my blog. My name is Megan A.
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