This moving process, I tell ya. It’s made for many stories. Most of them ironic and ridiculous. Some of them have brought lessons learned and others have made me realize that life just doesn’t really ever go as planned, does it?
You, dear friends, now get to spend the next few weeks of your life reading these ridiculous tales because they’re all stored up in my head over the past 11 days of not having internet. You’re welcome.
It all started the night before the move. You may recall I had asked for you guys to help me figure out something special to do our first night sleeping in the new house but I also wanted to do something that evening before, on the day we first got the keys to the house.
I had a plan. A great plan! A fun and silly and super picturesque plan that I was going to document. This was the stuff that instagram happiness is made of.
It was going to be our family, just the 5 of us, meeting at the new house in the evening when the hubs arrived home from work. We were going to lay out a picnic blanket in the middle of the very empty and very echo-y house and have a little ice cream picnic party right there. It was just going to be buckets and spoons, everyone’s favourite kinds. We were going to eat right out of the tubs as an added treat and because, of course, we had no idea where any bowls were!
I had big plans for this evening. It was blog worthy. I would write about how special it was to have just the 5 of us there on our first evening. I would right about how the love and laughter flowed even though we had nothing but ice cream. (what more does one need, really?) I would have picture after preciously cute picture of us having our little picnic.
But I learned that we’re not really the precious type. We’re not really the ridiculously cute type. We’re not really the best at making plans and having them turn out just like we planned in our minds type.
The boys and I arrived at the house a bit early. I took the time to wipe out cupboards and drawers with the strongest smelling disinfectant I could find to get out the smell of the other people. Not that it smelled bad. Just not “us”.
As I was working away the boys were amusing themselves in the vast empty space. Running up and down the hallways and then practicing their ninja-like moves on each other in a wide open living room. This is nothing out of the ordinary. In fact, I didn’t even blink an eye. When you have three boys you just assume that wrestling, running, jumping and the general attacking of each other is just the norm. So I worked away and glanced at their happy faces now and again.
Until I heard it. The scream. The sob. And then the worst part, the silence.
Now, back me up on this moms, the scream makes you glance up, right? The sob makes you look a little longer with curiosity, agree? But it’s the silence that makes you run just as fast as you can to the scene.
The story came out in a mad flurry of words from 3 different mouths and someone did something to someone and someone else had no idea how it happened. They were completely innocent, of course.
So I did what any mom of 3 boys would do. I hugged, I checked, I very unsympathetically explained that when you play rough games you have to be prepared to get hurt and I assured him that his fingers would be alright soon. “Just give it time,” was my sage advice.
Well, time did nothing and this boy who is usually pretty tough was not letting up. Just when the crying would subside he would gasp with a shooting pain and sob some more. A little attempt to bend his digits left him screaming and so I knew, with certainty, that something was actually wrong.
Five minutes later Dad arrives home after a long day made longer by his commute to join his precious little family for an ice cream picnic party. But when he enters he also remembers that we’re not really the precious sort. We’re the chaotic, bumbling, wrestling and disastrous type and within minutes of him coming in the door we abandon the ice cream in the freezer and the plastic spoons are left still in a box on the counter and we head to the Emergency Room.
A few hours and some x-rays later we leave with some splinted and wrapped up fingers that, while very badly sprained, are not broken.
So, as life goes I don’t have precious pictures of perfect picnics. But I do have crappy iPhone pictures of the ER. And of course, because I know you’re dying to see, I’ll share some!This was the first thing I brought into the house and plunked on a shelf. It’s a good thing I did because it was a happy reminder.
The antics looked like this but I thought it was so fun I even took documentation. Note: My kids don’t usually rock the muscle shirts but it was right after his basketball game. You’re lucky these pics don’t come in scratch and sniff version.
Big bro came along to document the entire event. This made little feel a bit like a celebrity which always eases some pain.
“Why can’t you come in with me mom?” “Uh, cause I don’t want to be radiated!” “But you’ll let me?” “Oh yeah, you’ll be fine.”
The Starbucks App on the ipad brought hours of fun as we created the most ridiculous drinks we could to help pass the time.