I was crabby from carrying my
heavy crockpot and Halloween decorations from the office to my parking ramp (we
had a chili cookoff at work and no one else from marketing was able/willing to
make the chili, so I took one for the team – and while it was delicious and we won first place — I was feeling bitter about having to make the chili, do
the dishes, and carry the crockpot back to my car), and then, when I was feeling sweaty
and my arms were quivering like I had just done 50 push-ups, there was an accident/traffic back-up getting onto 94,
causing me to be 45 minutes late to preschool—on a night when the boys had a
school dance, no less, and I had promised I’d pick them up absolutely no later
than 5 p.m. and I knew Adam would be watching that clock with the vigilance of
an armed soldier outside Buckingham Palace. (And of course no one picked up the
phone the first two times I called because they were most likely outside, but I needed to let them know I was stuck in
traffic, which added to my irritation because I knew Adam was going to be worrying
his little heart out.) After what felt like an eternity, I finally arrived at
preschool, hurried to get the boys, hurried to get their backpacks from upstairs, and hurried back to the car, then
hurried to meet Aaron at a fast food joint, where the boys scarfed down burgers
in record time and I tried not to let my negative attitude affect everyone else
(because it wasn't their fault I was in a bad mood). We didn’t want to be late to the dance—this was an annual
event, and it only lasted two hours, and
they could be missing out on something great (like hearing the “Whip Nae
Nae” song for the fifth time?!), so we hurried, hurried, hurried. They were so excited! A Halloween dance! At school!
This whole
time I was picturing that one bottle of Alaskan Amber I have left in the
fridge, patiently waiting for me on the top shelf, between a jar of almond butter
and a container of Greek yogurt. It was taunting me: I’m right here. I’m cold and
refreshing. I’ll make your bad day better.
It was going to be a long two
hours.
When we walked into the gym,
it looked like a traditional dance with one of those plastic disco globes
flashing green, red, and blue circles of light on the wall—and it sounded like
a traditional dance with the DJ playing “Uptown Funk”—but the bored parents sitting in
chairs along the perimeter of the dance floor and the kids playing tag rather
than actually dancing quickly proved it was not
going to be a traditional dance. The kids wanted money to buy ring pops and glow bracelets, and then they wanted some of those nasty
nachos (that really only taste good as an adult when you are starving, watching
a ball game on a hot summer day, or really, really drunk), and every now and
then they’d check in with us for some bottled water. We were very clear about
the most important main rule: Do not leave this gymnasium. Ever. Under any
circumstances. With anyone or anything. If you have to go to the bathroom, get
one of us first. I totally admit that I was paranoid following the recent news
of Jacob Wetterling’s possible abductor being found … it brought all of those
scary, can-never-feel-too-safe feelings back to the forefront. It would be so
easy for a person “posing” as a parent to snatch one of the kids when they
least expected it. I mean, I would hope they’d scream or protest and someone
would notice, but you can’t rely on other people to pay attention to what’s
going on with your kids when they have their own kids to keep track of, ya
know? And it was hard to keep track of the kids, with all the running. For some
reason, though, it never occurred to me to tell them to stop running, that’s not safe. They were all playing tag. I even saw a teacher good-naturedly join in
the fun.
After bringing Ben to the
bathroom, I struck up a conversation with one of the moms while Aaron talked with
one of the dads. I was on door patrol, while Aaron was keeping his eye on the
kids inside the gym. I remember asking the mom what time it was, and feeling
surprised when she said it was 7:45. My stress/anxiety from earlier in the day
had somewhat subsided; but I still wanted a beer.
Five minutes later—10 minutes before the dance ended—Adam’s
friend Michael’s dad came frantically running up to me. “Your son just got hurt
really bad!”
Before I had a chance to
process what that meant, Aaron and a hysterical Adam came rushing past me—Adam
holding his hands over his bloody mouth while Aaron steered them through the
crowd to the bathroom. I can’t remember ever seeing Adam so hysterical. Or
seeing so much blood. I followed them into the boy’s bathroom and shut the
door. Adam was still screaming/crying/hysterical. “What happened?” I asked
Aaron, trying to keep the panic out of my voice.
“He collided with another
kid,” Aaron said while trying to rinse the blood from Adam’s mouth. The running
water in the sink mixed with Adam’s blood and splattered red droplets on the
mirror, on the wall, on the back of the white sink. So much blood. It looked
like a scene from CSI.
“Do you think he cut his
mouth open, like he might need stitches? We might have to take him to urgent
care,” I said, trying to mop up some of the blood with a paper towel.
“I don’t wanna go there!”
Adam shrieked, still spitting out blood. “MY TOOTH!” he screamed and pointed in
the sink. Sure enough, there was a little white tooth in the sink, here one
second, washed down the drain the next. “I LOST TWO TEETH TONIGHT!” he
screamed. “TWO OF MY TEETH ARE GONE!!!”
Two teeth?! Like, two adult
teeth or two baby teeth?
“TWO BABY TEETH!” he cried.
“It hurts!!”
(Can you imagine colliding
into another person’s face so hard that you lose two teeth?! OMG. They must
have both been running fast.)
My next thought was: “I hope the other little guy is ok.” (Aaron had seen him on the ground, screaming,
before he realized that he had collided face-first into Adam and well, he couldn’t dwell
on the other little guy because he had his own little guy to worry about).
My thought after that was “I
should find ice for Adam.” Genius that Aaron is (the voice of reason)
remembered that the PTA moms had ice in a cooler, where they were selling
pop. (I’m not sure where I would have looked for ice otherwise.)
My thought after that was “OMG, I LEFT BEN AT THE DANCE UNATTENDED!!!!!!!”
After a moment of panic
followed by a wave of relief when I quickly found Ben (who wasn’t too far away, with
Michael and his parents, totally unfazed that his mom, dad, and brother had
suddenly disappeared), I found the PTA mom by the cooler and breathlessly asked if I “couldgetsomeiceformysonwhohadanaccidentandheknockedouttwoteeth.” (“Yes, of
course you can! That’s awful!” She was very,
very concerned, and I promise I wasn’t trying to be dramatic, I was just
giving her all the facts—like I was taught as a reporter). Ben and I took a plastic glove filled with ice back
to the bathroom and shut the door, where Aaron had wadded up a fresh paper
towel and stuck it in Adam’s still bleeding mouth. A very annoying little boy
kept knocking on the door, and I had to open the door a crack and firmly tell him, “My son had an
accident. Can’t you use a different bathroom?!”
Thankfully the dance was almost over, and there weren’t many other boys waiting
in line. (Seriously, go find a different bathroom!!! This is a school! There’s
more than one!) At this point, a small crowd of
concerned/nosey/”glad-that-shit-didn’t-happen-to-my-kid” parents had formed
outside the bathroom. It seemed like the ice was helping to numb the pain,
although we still couldn’t get a good look in Adam’s mouth to assess the damage
(his mouth was mangled, but didn’t appear to be cut), and the bleeding had slowed considerably. Adam calmed down
enough to wipe away his tears and leave the bathroom with us. (He had a reputation to uphold, after all. He was in second grade.)
“Is he ok?” one of the
parents asked.
No, he is NOT ok, you dumbass! Teeth were just forcefully knocked out of his face!
“He’ll be alright. We’re
going to call the dentist now,” I replied.
When we got to the car, Aaron
called the after-hours number for our family dentist and explained the
situation to whoever answers the after-hours line. That person had to page the
on-call dentist, but reassuringly told us, “You’ll get a call back soon.” We didn’t want to leave the school
and go home (even though Ben kept whining that he was SO TIRED and wanted to go
to bed) because we thought we might have to bring Adam in to the clinic, and we weren't too far from the clinic, so we
all sat in the car and waited, and waited, and waited. Adam looked sad; Ben
fell asleep.
Waiting for the dentist to call back. We were parked. Adam had to ask Ben to buckle his belt for him before we left. |
After waiting for 30 minutes, we decided to drive home. We put
some gauze pads in Adam’s mouth to soak up the blood and gave him a new ice
pack while he half-heartedly watched TV. After another 45 minutes or so, the
dentist finally called. (So much for “hearing back soon.”) Besides the pain he was in, we were mostly worried that
Adam’s two front teeth had been knocked out of alignment—they definitely didn’t
look right. The on-call dentist listened to the situation, then told Aaron that
at eight-years-old, a child’s mouth is still pliable. Teeth can shift back with
a little manual manipulation. He asked Aaron if he was comfortable gently
forcing them back into place. “You’re saying I should pull on one and push on
the other one for a few seconds?” Aaron repeated the instructions. OUCH. He did
what the dentist advised, Adam only protested a little, and then we gave him
some Tylenol and let him pass out on the couch. (The dentist wanted us to wait
until Adam’s mouth had healed before we brought him in.)
Once Adam was sleeping, I
looked over at Aaron and announced, “I’m gonna have a beer.”
And let me tell you, that
beer was heavenly.
On Halloween (the next morning), Adam woke up
with a very swollen, very sore, very tender mouth. He did not look like Adam. He didn’t act like Adam. We cancelled plans to see
the Anoka Halloween parade with Aaron’s dad, but Adam was feeling well enough
to go trick-or-treating in Forest Lake that night. His best friend Michael was
so concerned about Adam that he wrote him a heartfelt note after the
dance/accident, and sent $2 from his piggybank.
It was possibly the sweetest thing I’ve ever seen one little friend do
for another.
Adam wanted me to take this photo so Michael wouldn't worry about him. It was the first time he tried to smile after the accident (more facial pain). Poor kid. |
I love this. |
They did NOT like Uncle Nick's scary clown mask, but everyone thought Ashley made a perfect "crazy cat lady." |
We threw together our costumes at the last minute. |
My 87-year-old grandma Kate came over Halloween night. She liked seeing everyone, but I think it was a little loud and overwhelming for her. (We can get rowdy when we're all together.) |
It turns out that the other
kid in the “head-on collision” (get it?! Ha ha) suffered a cut above his eye.
I’m so glad it wasn’t much, much worse for either one. Also?
It rained while trick-or-treating, which really deflated our spirits. (Get it? Spirits?) Halloween was on a Saturday, so I was expecting more of a rowdy neighborhood vibe, but the rain really put a damper on that. The rain didn’t deter the kids, though. They understood that more houses = more candy. Funny thing is, they haven’t asked for their Halloween candy more than maybe twice all week. We’ll either donate it to my dad for hunting "fuel" or wind up throwing it away. On the bright side, less cavities, right?! The last thing we need in this family is another tooth crisis!