Saturday was a rough day for me. I'll sum it up to say that by 9:20 in the morning, I was curled up in my bed and bawling my eyes out.
Yup, I really was. It really was that kind of a day.
When my phone rang a bit later, I seen I had to answer it. When my friend heard my voice, she immediately asked me what was wrong but I played it off telling her I had a cold. Which I totally do, so, technically I didn't lie to her.
She chatted happily away with me and soon I found myself giggling a bit and soon I was spilling my whole morning...right down to the crying fest I had just before she had called. When I finished spilling my guts, we both started giggling.
Her phone call meant more to me than she could possibly understand. Friends are the greatest.
As I chatted with her, I began making the Pioneer Woman's cinnamon rolls because, well, the day now called for something to sweeten it up.
Just the two youngest boys were home and they were outside playing with their chickens.S3 hadn't held a chicken in a while (this picture is form last year when the boys tried to hypnotize a chicken) and decided it was time to get reacquainted with them.
Suddenly, S4 came running into the kitchen. "MOMA!!!! COME QUICK!!! E-WHY IS HURT. BAD!!!!!"
This is never good.
I stepped out of the kitchen and could hear S3 - Eli - screaming.
"I don't want to die, I want to LIVE." Live was emphasized as though by saying "live!" he would truly live and not die.
"What happened?" I asked S4, suddenly very concerned and thinking a bandaid may not work on this injury.
"He stepped on a nail and it went right into his foot.
All the while S3 is still screaming "I don't want to die, I want to LIVE."
The boys had gotten into the chicken coop, crawled out the chicken sized door and were in the chicken yard. S3 was sitting on the ground, his shoe off, his foot in his hand and huge tears falling from his blue eyes.
One look at me and he got even more loud and panicked. "I don't want to die, I want to LIVE," he seemed to plead with me.
"You'll live," was all I said as I helped him out of the pen.
"But there is blood and I don't want to die, I want to LIVE."
I was really trying not to laugh at him. But it was getting nearly impossible.
I scooped him up in my arms, carried him to the house and we doused his foot with hydrogen peroxide and then set him in the tub to soak in some soapy water.
He was still muttering "I don't want to die...." but it wasn't so intense anymore.
Since it was SATURDAY...all traumatic things occur on a Saturday when the pediatric office is closed...I facebooked message our pediatric nurse who now drives Ambulance. If anyone could help me know if I needed to rush him in, she would. And she, being the sweetest most kindest nurse ever took time from her yard clean up on her day off and talked me through it all so I could, in fact, assure him that even Nurse Sherrie said he would live.
We bandaged up his foot with neosporine and gauze and gauze tape (I have boys, these things are always on hand...but I now realize I need to stock up a bit more as spring has arrived.). We then let him wear S2's socks (um, an un-named person in this house hasn't folded socks in some time, apparently) and knowing he would make his older brother mad by wearing his socks, he was all smiles.
And his new shoes from his good friend Jacob weren't damaged so he would wear them again.
And cinnamon rolls were being made.
So his life was wonderful again and he went on living.
Daddy burned the board that had the nail in it that he stepped on. Because, can you imagine if a chicken had stepped on that?
That chickie mighta died.
Because Eli almost did.
Just ask him.