Tristan, who's three, busted his lip on Friday evening. I was taking Brittany to a birthday sleepover at her best friend's house, and when I got back to the truck, noticed I had missed three calls. Normally, when I leave the house I have a twinge of panic that the house will catch on fire, or the baby will turn on the stove or any one of a host of other 911 situations that could occur. Now, of course, David was home, and, of course, I completely trust him and he is completely capable of caring for the kids. But, my controlling self always feels that when I leave, and things are now out of my control, something will happen. That's why I don't like sleeping while someone else is driving. I know that if I nod off, we will certainly go veering off into a river or jump the median into oncoming traffic. So, I call home, to find out that Tristan had jumped off the window (?) and hit the bed with his mouth, busting his lip at least 3/4 of an inch long, and possibly went through to the other side. Could I please stop and get some popsicles? After I got home, and his lip was yucky, we couldn't decide whether to take him in. It didn't seem necessary to go to the emergency room, but there's no where else open on Friday night. So, we opted to wait. Saturday, we began to doubt our decision to wait, and decided to take him to Doct'or's Care that morning. The doctor said he could put a stitch or two in, but it would be very traumatic (yeah!) and he'd probably be fine without it. So, basically we could've not taken him and been fine. You just never know with these things. Normally I hate just running to the doctor for every little thing, but I do remember my sister Alison getting stitches in her tongue after she cut it with a high chair seat belt. So, I guess it's better to be safe when in doubt.
Tristan says to me a few weeks ago, "I don't have anything to do. I'm boring."
One morning after Tristan was being naughty, I sent him to sit on his bed. After a few minutes he came down and said, "Mom, can I get up now? I forgive you."