That is not a phrase I want to hear.
"Drew had an accident and he might need stitches." is what the school nurse called to tell us on Tuesday at 1:55 p.m. Apparently untied shoelaces and tether ball poles don't work well together.
I am so not ready for "big boy" accidents that require stitches and hospital visits.
I was so nervous as we got closer to his school and didn't know what to expect as we walked into the nurse's office. My wild imagination was producing a graphic slide show in my head of what he would look like.
A big, gash.
I have got to stop that.
We rounded the corner to find Drew, sad and scared, with a small band-aid on his eyebrow.
Mike, being the never worried man, said he's fine. I wanted to take him to the hospital to let a doctor decide that, just in case. Mike, again, says he's fine and Drew pipes in to give his vote. "No doctors!"
The score is 2 to 1. Mike grins, thinking he's won the battle.
Then my mom calls.
2 to 2.
3 to 2.
To the hospital we go.
Poor Drew was terrified and I admit I was too. I didn't want to have to see him go through what I thought was in store for him. However, the doctor, having 10 kids of her own, could sympathize with putting your kid through the act of getting stitches, especially in an area so close to the eye. Much to Drew's relief (and mine) she glued his small little wound.
He went from scared to this is so cool in about two seconds.