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przedI have a feeling I'm not going to be making my pledged word count. On account of the day we've just had.
Our plan was to spend the late morning and afternoon shopping for camping equipment and possibly even the barbeque we've been promising ourselves for, oh, ten years now. So we headed off to Mountain Equipment Co-op for the first leg of the trip. We found Ros' first sleeping bag (she was very excited and wanted to sleep in it immediately) and a new swimsuit for her. We also decided the lovely though their four hundred dollar tent was, we were probably going to be fine with the two hundred dollar tent at Canadian Tire. ( A note to non-Canadians: Canadian Tire isn't really a tire store. It's more like a tire, automotive, hardware, sporting goods, housewares, whatever-else-they-decide-they-can-find-room-for store.)
By this time it's after noon, there's a hot dog stand outside, so we all decide hot dogs would be groovy before heading off on the next leg of our epic shopping journey. There is exactly one bench outside the store, and we manage to score it. The bench is right beside the door to the store.
Ros has a couple of bites of her hotdog, then turns to me and says "Look! I can touch the door." I have a conversation with her about how she shouldn't touch the door, and she could get her fingers caught in it, and this is a safety thing and mommy is very serious about safety things, right? Ros agrees, and I figure we've dodged a bullet.
Two minutes later I turn away for a second, then hear the most awful scream I have ever heard.
Of course Ros tried to touch the door again, and of course she got her fingers caught in the door. The big, honking, metal door that has now closed on her fingers. And did I mention it's the exit door, and there's no handle on the outside, and I can't get the damned thing open. So I hold her hand so she doesn't pull on it and make it worse, and the Sweetie goes into superhero mode, runs in the in door, and pushes the out door open so we can pull her fingers out.
Her fingers are still there, if squashed, and she can move them, but Ros is understandably upset. I'm trying to keep calm and comfort her, but am FREAKING OUT. The Sweetie goes to see if the MEC people have ice, and emerges a few minutes later with an ice pack. Ros continues to be hysterical.
Now the thing with Ros is, when she gets hurt, she'll cry for a little bit, then she'll calm down, and then she's fine. This time, she was getting more and more hysterical. So we decide to go to Sick Kids hospital, which is a few minutes away, and she gets even more hysterical. She insists she doesn't need to go to the hospital and it doesn't really hurt, and can we please just go home. Yeah, that's not happening.
We go to Sick Kids' Emergency. Ros is still upset. They triage us and send us to Urgent Care, which we swiftly dub "Not-So-Urgent Care", which means we're there a while, but at least it means that it really isn't an emergency and Ros is going to be fine. And over the next two and a bit hours, Ros does indeed calm down, and starts wandering around, checking things out like her normal self.
By the time we get called, she's even beginning to use the hand with the two squashed fingers, though gingerly. The doctor and the medic (a lovely dude on rotation from the Army) check her fingers thoroughly for bone and tissue damage, show us how to splint the fingers if they're too painful, tell us what warning signs mean we need to get her back to her doctor, and send us on our way.
By this time, it's after 5. We make a flying run to get the tent from Canadian Tire. (Ros gets to ride in the rocket ship shopping cart, so she's good.) Then we let Ros decide what we're doing for dinner, which of course means The Beacher Cafe and a grilled cheese sandwich with french fries and chocolate milk.
We got her ready for bed, she crashed pretty much immediately--physical trauma and no nap will do that--and now I'm trying not to have flashbacks of the sight of her fingers stuck in that damned door. (The Sweetie luckily wasn't as close, didn't see it, and doesn't have that particular memory to deal with.)
So, I'm doing a load of laundry, try to draft a coherent response to the Pros Big Bang questions that have come up, and then I may poke away at the story, but I'm pretty much thinking I'm not going to get new words written.
Our plan was to spend the late morning and afternoon shopping for camping equipment and possibly even the barbeque we've been promising ourselves for, oh, ten years now. So we headed off to Mountain Equipment Co-op for the first leg of the trip. We found Ros' first sleeping bag (she was very excited and wanted to sleep in it immediately) and a new swimsuit for her. We also decided the lovely though their four hundred dollar tent was, we were probably going to be fine with the two hundred dollar tent at Canadian Tire. ( A note to non-Canadians: Canadian Tire isn't really a tire store. It's more like a tire, automotive, hardware, sporting goods, housewares, whatever-else-they-decide-they-can-find-room-for store.)
By this time it's after noon, there's a hot dog stand outside, so we all decide hot dogs would be groovy before heading off on the next leg of our epic shopping journey. There is exactly one bench outside the store, and we manage to score it. The bench is right beside the door to the store.
Ros has a couple of bites of her hotdog, then turns to me and says "Look! I can touch the door." I have a conversation with her about how she shouldn't touch the door, and she could get her fingers caught in it, and this is a safety thing and mommy is very serious about safety things, right? Ros agrees, and I figure we've dodged a bullet.
Two minutes later I turn away for a second, then hear the most awful scream I have ever heard.
Of course Ros tried to touch the door again, and of course she got her fingers caught in the door. The big, honking, metal door that has now closed on her fingers. And did I mention it's the exit door, and there's no handle on the outside, and I can't get the damned thing open. So I hold her hand so she doesn't pull on it and make it worse, and the Sweetie goes into superhero mode, runs in the in door, and pushes the out door open so we can pull her fingers out.
Her fingers are still there, if squashed, and she can move them, but Ros is understandably upset. I'm trying to keep calm and comfort her, but am FREAKING OUT. The Sweetie goes to see if the MEC people have ice, and emerges a few minutes later with an ice pack. Ros continues to be hysterical.
Now the thing with Ros is, when she gets hurt, she'll cry for a little bit, then she'll calm down, and then she's fine. This time, she was getting more and more hysterical. So we decide to go to Sick Kids hospital, which is a few minutes away, and she gets even more hysterical. She insists she doesn't need to go to the hospital and it doesn't really hurt, and can we please just go home. Yeah, that's not happening.
We go to Sick Kids' Emergency. Ros is still upset. They triage us and send us to Urgent Care, which we swiftly dub "Not-So-Urgent Care", which means we're there a while, but at least it means that it really isn't an emergency and Ros is going to be fine. And over the next two and a bit hours, Ros does indeed calm down, and starts wandering around, checking things out like her normal self.
By the time we get called, she's even beginning to use the hand with the two squashed fingers, though gingerly. The doctor and the medic (a lovely dude on rotation from the Army) check her fingers thoroughly for bone and tissue damage, show us how to splint the fingers if they're too painful, tell us what warning signs mean we need to get her back to her doctor, and send us on our way.
By this time, it's after 5. We make a flying run to get the tent from Canadian Tire. (Ros gets to ride in the rocket ship shopping cart, so she's good.) Then we let Ros decide what we're doing for dinner, which of course means The Beacher Cafe and a grilled cheese sandwich with french fries and chocolate milk.
We got her ready for bed, she crashed pretty much immediately--physical trauma and no nap will do that--and now I'm trying not to have flashbacks of the sight of her fingers stuck in that damned door. (The Sweetie luckily wasn't as close, didn't see it, and doesn't have that particular memory to deal with.)
So, I'm doing a load of laundry, try to draft a coherent response to the Pros Big Bang questions that have come up, and then I may poke away at the story, but I'm pretty much thinking I'm not going to get new words written.
