Staples, Stiches and Surgical Glue: One of those times there probably should have been...

As it goes in the WX household, as soon as one incident is near completion, another one is just around the bend; but then what do I expect living with three young superheroes in training?  Just as Sam's swelling is a memory and the bruise on his face is nearly faded, I hear a scream from outside.

Robby has been on this huge kick lately.  Actually, Ray kind of started it.  Well, I guess it was Michael really.  With the construction of your home (Michael's thing), Ray got it in his head we NEED a treehouse.  (That be Ray's thing.)  I would have never guessed in million billion years that Ray would be the brave one up in the tree pounding nails while Robby keeps his feet firmly planted in the grass.  However, Robby is not one to be left out.  That's when he developed the idea that he needs to build a bridge.  A bridge?  Really?  We have no water or water feature.  Why we would need a bridge?  Well Robby is convinced we do and he is one determined little man who isn't about to let it drop.

I personally think my children with real hammers and nails sounds like a ER trip waiting to happen and of course I've stated my point once or twice.  I guess that's why God gave my children a mother and a father.  If it was just me, there's a lot of experiences they probably would have been sheltered from.  So, I keep myself busy making dinner, cleaning up the kitchen, working on the computer while Michael supervises the handiwork.

Enough background information.  Back to the scream.  I've learned that children often overreact, and my overreacting doesn't help a whole lot.  That's why I more or less ignored the situation at hand and continued on with what I was doing.  Michael carried Sam into the bathroom and I heard water running, more disturbingly, I heard continued screaming and crying.  After a few minutes, I asked if Sam was alright.  "Yea, he's fine."  Okay, good enough for me.  Michael continued on with his daddy doctoring and the screaming and crying slowly subsided.

When the dust settled, Sam was sporting a band-aid on his right index finger, which is a huge feat in and of it's self because he is the most anti-bandage child I've ever met.  Michael explained that Sam's finger had the unfortunate circumstance of being in between Rob's nail and hammer and now had a battle wound to prove it.  I, of course, sighed and once again stated they are too young for hammers and nails, just sayin'

After awhile, Sam is holding his finger upright and whining about it.  I assume he just really doesn't like wearing a the band-aid, but as I look closer I see he has bleed through the band-aid.  He pulls and pulls at it till he works it free.  Now I can see that this is actually a pretty good gash on his finger and it's still bleeding quite a bit.  I undress Sam and put him in the tub to try to get it clean and get a better look at it.  I call Michael in and tell him I think he could use some surgical glue or possibly a stitch or two.

"I've got glue.  We'll just use that."  He claims his bottle of the OTC skin glue is the same as the doctor's stuff.  I disagree, but have no desire to drive to the ER so we give it a whirl.

Sam doesn't care much for the sting of the glue, can't say I blame him.  He also isn't up for another band-aid.  I use a sharpie to draw a dog on a band-aid and he decides that's not so bad after all.

This morning, band-aids off, finger is bleeding and Sam's blanket is bloody.  Sigh.  I refrain from saying "I told you so!"  Oh wait, guess I just did.