Sunday, Bloodier Sunday

So, I had a rough time getting ready for church last Sunday. Today, I had resolved, would be different. I picked out my and the kids’ clothes Saturday night. I got Joshua dressed and ready early so he could go to church with Bobby and play while Bobby practiced with the worship team. I put Sophie down for a nap when she started getting cranky and decided to go to church a few minutes later than I usually do, so that she could have a short nap and I could get myself ready without her screaming the whole time. So, I was able to do my hair, put on makeup, and wear actual dress clothes. High-heeled shoes! Even (gasp!) accessories! Everything was going swimmingly. The only thing I didn’t get was breakfast, so I decided to run thru the blessed drive-thru at Tim Horton’s on the way to get a Café Mocha and a Yogurt & Berries. So I got Sophie up, got her in the car, and got on my way. Then, in the midst of ordering my breakfast treats at the drive-thru speaker, my cell phone rings. I dug around in my purse while shouting my order and found the phone just in time. It was my husband.

Me: Hello?
Bobby: You still at home?
Me: No, I’m in the drive-thru at Tim Horton’s. (and a vanilla yogurt & berries. Yes, that’s all. Ok.)Bobby: What? Oh, ok. Well. Joshua fell off the stage and smooshed his lip. He’s going to be ok, but he’s really sad and he really wants to come home.
Me: (Sigh) Ok, I’ll take him home. (Hi. Fine. Sorry about the phone conversation. Thank you.) Is he all right?
Bobby: Yeah, he’s just really sad.
Me: Ok, I’ll be right there. Can you bring him outside?
Bobby: Yeah. See you soon. Sorry, baby. Love you.

I drove to church and collected Joshua. I was so sad that he was hurt and sad I wasn’t getting to go to church. I had a Milkchic nursing cover I had purchased for a friend at church and was bummed I wasn’t going to get to give it to her. (Bobby had the honor, though!) I felt “all dressed up and no place to go.”

Bobby brought Joshua out to the car. My poor baby boy was holding a tissue on his lip. He wouldn’t let me see it. He was still really upset so I did what every good mother does and drove to McDonald’s to get him a chocolate milkshake. He took one drink and said it hurt and cried & cried. Grrreat. When we got home, I finally got him to give me a look at his wound. His bottom lip is FUGE (that’s how Joshua says “HUGE” and we don’t correct him because we think it’s cute. Again, I am a good mother.) It’s also bloody and bruised on the inside. Poor little guy! He looks like that kid from the Fat Albert cartoon (was his name Mush Mouth?), the one who talked funny, only you know, blonde and white and without the hat pulled down over his face. I can’t convince him to let me put any ice on it and he refuses to take the tissue away. We’ve been home for an hour now and he’s still got his hand pressed against the tissue and he keeps trying to talk through it and I cannot understand a word he’s saying.

I’m fairly sure he’ll survive, and since I had my coffee, fairly sure I’ll make it through as well. Right now I am bargaining with him to get him to take the tissue off his mouth. I’m offering to play trains, but he’s not buying! So I’m searching for some more tricks to pull from my sleeve…too bad I put on a cute little sleeveless number for church.