When you’re the mom of four boys, it’s an unusual quarter that passes without a trip to the emergency room for a broken bone or stitches (or, as it’s happened, both at the same time). And when one of those boys is the quintessential “spotlight stealer,” eventually your car can auto-pilot itself to the local ER. The upside is that thanks to our curly-haired spotlight-stealer, we managed to satisfy our annual insurance deductible in one fell swoop before the end of January.
Yesterday, which was Ben’s birthday, suddenly became all about Matthew when he tried to impress a girlfriend who was visiting, and instead managed to split open his lip and just above. Once we could figure out where the blood was coming from (those mouth/lip/nose injuries are like faucets!), it was immediately apparent he was going to need some fancy stitchery. While I stayed home and got to enjoy the company of some of our favorite friends who were brunching with us, David headed up to Bridgeport with Matthew – and the poor birthday boy, whom Matthew wanted to bring along for company and moral support (and eventually some brotherly fighting). Thanks to dear local friends who kindly made some phone calls, we are now hooked up with a fantastic go-to plastic surgeon in the area. Forget the fact that David and Matthew say she’s a hot, young, Jewish chick – her work as a medical seamstress is mindblowing! David lost count after 13 stitches, and Matthew endured the needlework like a brave weekend warrior. He came home five hours later feeling pretty good, and we managed to squeeze in birthday dinner for Ben at the local hibachi restaurant (which is not surprising, considering Matt went trick-or-treating the night after his cochlear implant surgery six years ago!).
And so, at Matt’s request, I am sharing his latest emergency room adventure (it’s like a competition to get a blog mention here, and he even suggested posing for the photo before he left this morning to enhance his story). He was actually looking forward to returning to school to show off his injury – and no doubt have the chicks heap on the sympathy. Knowing my little ladies’ man, I am certain he’ll milk it for all it’s worth, asking the babes to gently kiss his boo-boo. Way to go, Slick!
And a very happy birthday to my big boy. Your compassion and patience was recognized and greatly appreciated!