If you’ve had a chance to read my blog over the last couple of days, you know all about how Ro-Ro came face-to-face with our hardwood floor and lost miserably. Well, in a bit of a follow up to that post, yesterday was the big day that all six of his stitches were removed by the doctor.
When his brothers came home from school, Ro-Ro couldn’t wait to show them his chin. He even wiped his face repeatedly to make sure that there wasn’t any food residue covering his dark red scar (which is pretty impressive, considering he hates having his face wiped and you can usually tell what he’s been eating all day just by looking around his mouth…people must think I never bathe him).
As soon as his brothers arrived home from school, Ro-Ro shoved his chin in their faces and yelled “Look, Guys! No stitches! We went to the doctor and he took out ALL of my stitches!!”
Finn and Cal peered down at his chin for a moment and then Cal asked “What are all of those tiny holes around the red line?”
Ro-Ro opened his eyes widely and said in a very serious tone “Guys, that’s where the doctor put the needle in and out of my face.”
“Did it hurt?” Finn asked, looking as though he might be sick.
“No,” Ro-Ro responded casually. “I don’t feel any pain.”
“Why not?” Cal asked him.
“Because I’m four,” Ro-Ro told him. “And a half.” I nearly spat out the iced tea in my mouth. He’s so small, yet so ridiculously confident. And he clearly has a future as a professional bullshit artist.
I wanted to mention that he didn’t feel any pain because the doctor had numbed his chin, but I didn’t want to ruin his moment.
“Well, we saw your chin, Ro. I think it hurt,” Finn told him.
“It didn’t,” Ro repeated. “And I forgot to tell you what else.”
“What?” Finn and Cal asked him.
Ro moved closer to them and said in a low whisper, “When they were done with my stitches, they gave me a popsicle!!”
“No way! What color?” His brothers demanded.
Ro-Ro looked at them for a moment and then said “Orange. A big, fat orange one. And I ate the whole thing.”
“No fair!” Finn yelled out.
“Well,” Cal said. “When I went to the hospital to have my tummy operation, they gave me four popsicles.”
“Four?!!” Ro-Ro screeched.
“Or maybe fifty,” Cal told him. “I can’t remember.” He’s also full of baloney sometimes. These kids crack me up.
“What colors?” Ro-Ro asked him.
“Oh…blue…yellow…orange…red…” Cal said as he listed them off on his fingers. ” The nurse gave me all of them. And then I really needed to pee.” That part was very true. He must have peed for a solid two minutes after eating all of those popsicles (not an exaggeration). It was quite impressive.
“Yeah, well….the doctor gave me a big dinosaur egg today,” Ro-Ro told his brothers, trying to faze them.
“What?!” Cal sounded outraged.
“Yup.” Ro-Ro responded, putting his nose up in the air. “And there were little dinosaurs inside the egg.”
“Where is it?” Finn demanded.
Ro-Ro walked over to the kitchen counter, picked up his dinosaur egg, and brought it over to his brothers. A smile spread across his face as they admired his new toy.
“See? You go to the hospital and you get popsicles AND toys. I love that place.”
“Yeah, hospitals are so…delicious,” Cal said as he sighed. “I love popsicles.”
“Yup, they have the good popsicles there,” Ro-Ro agreed.
I started to feel a bit worried about this whole conversation. What was going to happen? Were they going to start diving head-first down the stairs and beating each other up with hockey sticks just so they could have a joyride down to the local hospital to get popsicles and new toys? They were really getting the wrong idea. Hospitals aren’t exactly fun. And they’re definitely not ‘delicious’.
Oh, and it’s not like they don’t get popsicles and the odd new toy at home. I spend the majority of my summer handing out ice pops and dishing out ice cream. Come to think of it, we even made some homemade popsicles last summer! I mean, they’re hardly deprived, are they?!
I was just about to jump in with one of my infamous mini-lectures when Finn stood up and said “Well, I’m not going to the hospital. It smells weird there. And we have ice pops in the freezer.”
“But what about the toys?” Cal asked him.
“I found twenty dollars in my bank,” Finn told him. “I’ll buy my own toy. I don’t want anyone to sew up my face.”
I let out a huge sigh of relief. My darling Finn, the eight-year-old voice of sensibility and reason, had swooped in and saved the conversation.
And now I’m off to the store to buy some popsicles. It may be the middle of winter, but I don’t want to take any chances.