No shirt, no shoes? You’ll learn! Pt2

Yup.  That about sums it up.

You can find your refresher……here.

I admit, I’m probably never gonna win the coveted Father of the Year award.  Evar!  Even still, I suspect most parents would’ve probably been a tad more sympathetic to their child than I was at that moment.  I was pretty angry. But, I kept pressing that now bloody t shirt against Jethro’s heel.  “Where the hell are your shoes?!?!?” I hissed at him.

“I don’t know.”  Jethro sobbed uncontrollably in my lap.

“You don’t know?  You don’t know?  How many times do I have to tell you to put your shoes on?  And leave them on?”  Whew!  Someone was angry!!!

“I don’t know.”  He continued to sob.

Given the chance, I’d yell at this kid, too!
Given the chance, I’d yell at this kid, too!

I’d rather not say right now how much more I berated the wounded child.  I’m not proud.  Let’s just say by the time I was done, I wasn’t sure if the tears were from the pain of Jethro’s foot or my words.  Oh….don’t give me that crap!  Don’t go feeling sorry for him.  He’s fine.  He lived to tell the tale.  Who you should feel sorry for is your’s truly.  Yea, that’s right…me!  This is a one man show.  And the task of coordinating this circus on an average day is no easy feat.  But on the day of a black swan?  Please?!?!?  A normal mortal would run in the other direction.  Me?  I just sigh, thank the big guy upstairs for yet another challenge to my sanity, and roll my sleeves up.

Anyway…

The blood coming from the wound seemed to be slowing down a bit.  But, it was still heavy enough, and caked onto his foot enough, that I really needed to clean it, to get a better idea of what I was dealing with. So, I picked Jethro up and carried him into the house.

Bringing him in there was totally a scene out of M*A*S*H*.  Where the hell is Houlihan when you need her? I got a man down here!  I yelled over at Natalia, who was sitting at the computer desk, to get me a few wet paper towels.  Stat!  Chairs and toys were flying in all directions as I barged into the kitchen.  Natalia handed me the paper towels and pulled a chair out for Jethro to sit.

C’mon!  You totally had a thing for her, too.  Admit it!
C’mon! You totally had a thing for her, too. Admit it!

Jethro continued to sob while I cleaned off his heel as best I could.  With most of the dried blood off his foot, it still didn’t look good.  The cut was pretty deep. Just imagine the worst paper cut you ever had.  This was way deeper.  I don’t want to say it looked like the Joker’s smile, but…you get the picture.  And every time I touch the skin around it, it would start bleeding more.  No band aid was gonna fix this mess.  The kid was definitely gonna have to go to the hospital.  Which brought me to the part that I had been dreading all along…

…calling the Mother.

***

Ok, class.  Here’s the part of the story, where I gotta give you a little history lesson.  In all the years I’ve been writing these blogs, I really haven’t said much about the kids’ biological mother.  That’s mostly because I’ve been too busy undoing everything she has so gratefully done to, errr, I mean…for me. I will tell you, though…that crazy comes in all sizes and packages.  And it’s really easy to tell the crazy ones, when they look crazy.  It’s more of a bitch to spot them when they look normal.  Cause if you’re not careful (and you know you’re not), it’ll be ten years/four kids later and she’ll be leaving you for another fella, 6 years your senior, that works part time at a well known home improvement store.  Don’t get me wrong.  It’s all in the past now, where it belongs.  I tell you all this so you can learn from my mistakes.  Learn through me, class.  Not because of me.

This guy?  Definitely nuts!!!
This guy? Definitely nuts!!!

Whoa.  Whoa.  Whoa.  Hang on, class.  Hang on.  You weren’t dismissed just yet.  We’ve got a little bit more to cover before we continue with Jethro’s tale.  Now, I have primary physical custody of the kids, but the Mother and I share joint legal custody.  And we don’t see eye to eye, well, on much.  So anything that is done to the kids, we have to be in agreement on.  Not like getting them Kung Fu lessons or letting them sky dive.  But, like converting them to Hare Krishnas.  Or, with matters regarding their health.  You see where this bus is going?

Enough of the history lesson, let’s get back to our story.

***

What I’m dreading the most about the phone call I’ve got to place (besides the fact I have to talk to this woman and talking to this woman is like talking to Veruca Salt right after she didn’t get that golden goose.  Times 10.) is that the Mother is a nurse at the local Children’s Hospital.  And the cut on Jethro’s foot would be the perfect way to show off her nursing skills to all her nursing friends at the local children’s hospital.  The pickle is, the local children’s hospital is a good 45 minutes away.  The local “regular” hospital is only 15 minutes from where I live.  What’s a guy who doesn’t feel like dealing with a lunatic gotta do?

Yup.  That about sums it up.
Yup. That about sums it up.

He places the phone call…

 

You may also like

5 Comments

  1. Funny! Don't worry, I spend many a moment wondering if this is the moment my kids will be recounting in therapy someday…

  2. that's funny! one of my (many) favorite sayings is: "looks like this is gonna cost me another year of therapy!"