I want my old lame life back

Yeegads, I'm too busy. I like being busy, but I like being busy with stupid silly things I've decided to do, not Big Important things I have to do because someone else wants me to do them or because they're the right thing to do. Yuck. The inner irresponsible teenager in me is screaming to be set free.

That being said, I'm mindful of my friend Marci's aversion to people saying "Oh my gosh, I'm so busy I just can barely breathe!" Which is sort of like the self-absorbed ninny's way of saying "Oh my gosh, I'm so important I can barely stand it!" Which is sort of like saying "Oh my gosh, I'm so full of myself I can barely fit in a room with another human!"

So, I'm not that busy but I haven't been able to blog a lot and it's bugging me.

'Why haven't you been blogging, Heather?' I knew you were asking that. So I did it for you.

Well, let's see....there was the trip to the ER tonight with my baby boy Griffie who probably should have been named Crash or something equally cool like that. This child's head is magnetic. So are surfaces that the head doesn't belong on, like the floor. Give him five minutes alone and he'll conk his head on something, usually hard enough to leave a bruise and usually it'll be right in the middle of his forehead.

Tonight, however, he had a great two-fer. We were outside playing.

First, he attempted to climb up on the grill. It was covered and all, but those vinyl covers are apparently a touch slippery so he fell head first into the twelve inch space between the grill and a big limestone step that leads to the garage. I found him yelling at me, upside down. Not a scratch on him that time. Whew! He quickly recovered his good mood and went about his merry way.

So I let my guard down.

Surely his one disaster of the day had already happened, yes?

I pulled up a chair and got ready to do some Computer Work for Work while he tinkered in the garage. Only this time, his idea of tinkering included pulling a child-sized motorcycle/dirt bike thingy on top of himself.

And so he and I were off to the ER. Because this time, he didn't yell for help. He screamed and cried and I thought he was going to die. My heart was in my throat, as was most of my GI tract apparently because even after we are all safely home I am suffering from the massive attack of trauma-induced GERD that happened when I glanced up and saw him laying under the motorcycle.

The motorcycle my husband bought my three-year-old son. Because most three-year-olds need motorcycles.

If you have or had a three-year-old, you probably didn't buy them a motorcycle, but you are a bad parent and totally clueless about the needs of developing children and you're way overreacting, Heather, that a motorcycle is unsafe and he's not going to be driving it anyway because we all know it's really for his dad who is stuck in some sort of arrested development.

My friend Sara is probably vehemently disagreeing with me right now, because her son probably has a motorcycle. But her son can probably drive it already.

The nice folks at the pediatric ER were happy to have Crash, Mr. Cheery Knucklehead in their midst this evening, even if it was only for an hour and he didn't need any actual care from them.

The doctor even admitted that he dropped his three children off at their mother's dental practice with ticks all over them today. Cause he took them hiking in the woods before he had to come in to work and they got ticks. So you see? Even ER doctors make stupid mistakes, but I bet he never bought his kids a motorcycle when they were three. I didn't ask him.

Well, that was tonight's adventure. The poor child had Hand, Foot and Mouth disease this weekend. I thought we were out of the woods with him for a while, and that is where I made a critical mistake. I will never be out of the woods with this one. He's the child who will scare the living daylights out of me every single day including the day he straps on homemade wings and attempts to 'fly' off the garage roof or something equally ridiculous.

- H