It was only a week ago that I was forced to take a stand, to become the Evil Bitchface Mother Who Changes WiFi Settings Without Telling Anyone.
I had no choice.
I had to do it.
Mostly because I was going mental repeating the “get off your iPods” and “No, you cannot watch YouTube right now”, then discovering the two older ones had snuck up to the bedrooms, with the iPod, to watch YouTube.
I, apparently, am far too stupid to know that they are doing this, and the thrice weekly – on average – evenings I walk into a closed-door-room to find them on their devices when they’re not meant to be is merely coincidence and not at all because I am NOT FUCKING STUPID!
I suspected the middlest child was coerced by the eldest, although, really, I seriously doubt that he put up much resistance. This – both of my suspicions, actually, were confirmed once I told them they’d forced me to be an Evil Bitchface (although I didn’t divulge exactly what I planned to do in this state, because then there’d be no fun).
So much can change in the space of a week …
Chippie went from being a dinosaur, to being a colossal squid, to hating school, to enjoying it, and becoming a Child Who Speaks To Others. It’s not something he has really ever done before, and now … he’s opened right up, his reading has taken a huge leap, and he is much more settled. Relatively speaking, of course.
Godzilla has become much more independent, and much more adverse to my public displays of farewelling him at school drop off.
I have acquired a rather sizeable content writing contract with an even more sizeable firm that has taken whatever routine I have, put it on one of those paint tin shaking thingies and pretty much done with it what it does to paint.
Grumpy Pants is all over the place like a mad woman’s breakfast, which is pretty standard, really. It just adds to the fun with my new role.
And Monkey Boy … oh, how much can change in so little time.
Yes, not more than a week ago, he was sneaking into his brother’s room, with his brother, to surreptitiously watch YouTube videos. This after a big long talk about using up Internet and doing homework and household jobs, and not being arsefaces and the like.
Not more than a week later, his brother did that sneaky up to bedroom thing to watch YouTube without anyone knowing (because I’m stupid, remember) and was out of everyone’s way, yet he determined he was going to do The Right Thing and put a stop to this misbehaviour.
There was yelling and swearing.
There was an iPad yanked out of the hands of its owner and taken away and hidden.
There was the ensuing sibling-style fisticuffs.
At the top of the stairs.
When I say “at the top of the stairs”, I don’t mean “on the landing”. I mean on the top two stairs. Literally.
By the time I became involved, there were three children in tears. Although I’m still yet to figure out how Chippie was dragged into it, and why his super-huge, Duplo blaster was thrown across the room and broken.
Really, Monkey Boy was supposed to be cooking pasta, not re-enacting the stylings of Attila The Hun on his younger brother.
Ultimately, the outcome was five hours in the Emergency Department at the Royal Children’s Hospital with a rather large, swollen, odd looking big toe.
Monkey Boy, not me.
According to all accounts, Monkey Boy attempted to kick Godizlla, who smacked his foot out of the way, causing it to impact with a wall.
It was in finding out which wall, specifically, that brought to my attention that this fisticuffs was occurring ON the stairs.
Given I had a friend over that I hadn’t seen for some time, and that I’m not one of these overly panicky parents, I sat him down with an ice pack on his foot and did a bit of “wait and see”. I did let him know I’d take him to the hospital when I dropped my friend off.
Unfortunately – or quite possibly fortunately – he has a high pain tolerance and/or simply will not let you know just how much pain he is in, so you can’t really adequately decide just how necessary the trip to ED is.
By the time we got there, tiredness and painkillers were settling in.
Silliness ensued, and I marched quickly through the doors of the ED, saying “quick now, hurry up” to a hopping teenager (he refused to let me help him) whilst he bounded about.
“What are we in for tonight?” asks the lovely nurse at the triage desk.
“My son is an idiot,” I tell her, giving her what I felt were the most important details.
She took a look at him hopping through the doors, took some details and told us to wait.
So we did.
To add to the fun, after having to wait for quite a range of children to be seen, at around midnight, when we were finally allocated a cubicle in which to wait to be seen to, some Great Void between the central station and x-ray department sucked up the referral for the x-ray and we were left waiting a whole other hour until we were seen.
Two, possibly three, breaks were found within the one bone of the bones in his big toe.
An area that can not be taped, bandaged, plastered or anything really.
We were sent home a little after 2.30a.m. with a set of crutches and a letter to the GP which included words along the lines of “thank you for seeing this patient who was kicking his brother” … this line alone had me giggling uncontrollably in the ED cubicle whilst we were waiting to be allowed to go home. That and fatigue.
Upon arriving home, the rest of the household asleep, the doof doof music from next door still going (it had been since the time we got home from school yesterday and it was driving me nuts), and Grumpy Pants snoring, I suggested Monkey Boy have my spot in the bed and I attempted a sleep in his bunk.
Attempted being the word of the moment …