Considering the basic self-destructive nature of Gabe's personality, it's pretty astonishing that we haven't had any semi-serious injuries yet. Certainly he is almost always covered in bruises and his head is generally misshapen with all of the bumps in their various states of recovery. And Norah is VERY accident prone. She's kind of a mess, really. Pretty much every day she bonks or smashes or scrapes something on her body. I'm hoping it's just a phase--blamed on her body and her coordination not quite meshing properly.
And, of course, there have been minor emergencies, like the time Gabe got himself trapped in the rocking chair. That is still one of my most vivid memories of him as a toddler--trapped in a place it should have been impossible for him to get into, screaming his brains out, and me taking the time to get a picture before running out to find a saw to cut him loose. Parenting at its finest.
But we haven't had any screaming-at-the-top-of-their-lungs-in-pain-for-a-good-long-while kinds of injuries yet. No major blood loss. No need to break out the gauze or medical tape. Until July 3.
Gabe and Norah were setting off some fireworks with a friend, sparklers, specifically. At some point in the last few decades while I wasn't paying attention to sparklers, it became common to make them out of wood. I guess I can understand some of the appeal. Those little metal sticks that were left-over were a bit of a piercing hazard for people walking around afterwards and they probably didn't rust away to nothing very quickly. But, still, I'm not sure I grasp the logic of putting what is, essentially, a heat source that rivals a welding kit on the end of a strip of balsa wood.
So, considering that, I'm not surprised that some of the sparkler burned free and fell on the ground. The nasty part came when Norah, not wearing shoes, stepped on that piece of molten "freedom."
Things got ugly for awhile, but she came out of it pretty well. And I'm proud of Libby for not taking her to the ER. After having ground off the top half of my right index finger down to the first knuckle when I was nine years old and never seeing a doctor about it, I have a pretty high bar for what does and doesn't warrant a trip to the ER.
Nonetheless, it was a pretty ugly burn. I'd post a picture, but that kind of grizzly detail really isn't necessary and I can't imagine anyone really wants to see it that bad.
It also put a pretty severe kink in her summer plans. Because of the bandage on her foot, she hasn't been able to get in the swimming pool or, really, do much of anything fun or messy for the past week. Moreover, without Norah, Gabe hasn't had any interest in getting in the pool either. Apparently, playing in a swimming pool is pretty boring when you're by yourself.
The good news is that it has been healing exquisitely. The kids had their yearly checkup two days after the accident and the doctor took a quick peek at the wound. He said it was healing much faster than he thought possible, and I think she'll be able to resume summer swimming activities in the next couple days.
I guess I should also do some updates on the last month of summer funness.
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| Gabe at his Water Colors Camp. His second of two camps this summer and the one that he preferred. The kid loves his art! |
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| His picture is the one above him. He named both of these pictures that they hung up for display (which he thought was pretty awesome, since this camp was at a museum), but I can't remember the names of either of them. |
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| His second picture, and a pretty typical pose for both of them at this point. |
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| I can't remember what he was eating here--and he can't remember either. He assures me that it wasn't blood even though the picture that immediately follows this was of him losing his third tooth and him holding bloody gauze up to the empty socket. I want to say this was from a bomb pop. You can see the white color also smeared around his upper lip. I swear, this kid can't keep food in his mouth. I swear he purposely smears it all over his lips and face because he likes the feel of it. |
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| Libby couldn't wait for Gabe's tooth to fall out anymore. She worked it with her fingers for a few minutes before deciding to go with the string-pulling method. It took a few good yanks (which, to my way of thinking, meant that it wasn't really ready to come out, but that's just me), but it eventually gave. It was the first of his top teeth, and the first one he'd lost in almost a year. |
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| The 3rd of July. Before things got all burny in the Norah's footal region. |
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| Champagne poppers. Nothing burns in them. GOOD fireworks for children. |
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| 4th of July. Mostly the kids got to set off smoke bombs and tanks and other relatively harmless fireworks. Gabe especially loved running through the smoke bombs and pretending that nobody could see him. They also figured out that, since the smoke bombs shoot fire out their tops, they can be strategically set up to light other fireworks. They didn't, however, figure out that you can stick them into a coffee can with an action figure and pull out a multi-colored, heat-deformed mess afterwards. It took all of my resolve to NOT share this tidbit with them. I decided it was best if I left it up to them to discover the various ways they can destruct the world around them. |
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| Yeah, he's running around on the 4th of July wearing a long sleeved shirt. Though the week before HAD been unseasonably cool (with highs in the 80s . . . at the end of June! It was remarkable!) it had once again gotten quite hot by the 4th. Yet he chose to wear a long sleeved shirt, and he really didn't seem all that put out by it. Man it must be nice to be young. |
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And, finally, all the kids eating the most patriotic of frozen treats, the bomb pop. A missile of fun for your face!
This was from Gabe's first week of camp, the Survivor Camp, where they talked about edible plants and storms and suchlike. This was the program they put on for all the parents at the end.
Norah's camp. This song was sung many times for a couple weeks after camp.
The recital for Norah's spring Dance camp also happened a few weeks back.
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