Nimwit

We were sitting on either side of him... but we couldn't save him. The futility of it all struck us as soon the table struck him (or so it seems).

Alas, it was true... he started it. Yes, HE struck the table first. You cannot imagine the shame and embarrassment when very quickly, yea, in the blink of an eye only enough time to utter an alarmed gasp, the table won. It was over like that. Suddenly there was a wild convergence of tears and blood, wet paper towels, and then hastily the four of us departed.

The proximity of the health center was appreciated, furthermore, the lack of patrons therein proved an even greater blessing. While the boy was seen immediately with his father at his side, I was left with minimal paperwork and his alarmingly well-behaved younger brother.

Every cry I heard from beyond the admitting doors squeezed my heart, compressed my lungs, even as I smiled at the adorable antics of my darling 2 year old. My brain reassured my heart that things were ok and it was satiated for another 5 minutes until another cry rang out. Only an hour transpired before me and young lad were allowed to see him. His demeanor was immediately relieving. He was calm and not unlike his normal inquisitive self began grilling me about the blood pressure cuff (what is that for? what does it do? what is it called? does it hurt?...etc).

So walking papers in hand, we headed to the van. Thankful to have our kids in one piece and quite relatively in their original condition with the addition of 6 blue stitches, we made one stop before calling it a night. At home, the champion table diver sat with a bowl of chocolate ice cream as he talked to his Aunt Moe Moe on the phone about SpongeBob.

And I breathed a weary sigh of relief... my heart full of sad thankfullness.