Two-Part Post.

Part I- Meet The Boys

Since the inception of this page, I’ve been wondering how I should refer to my boys when regaling you with tales of our existence. Using their names is out- any responsible parent/blogger/internet user knows by now that it just isn’t good form to do so for a number of reasons.

Calling them “The 4 year old” and “The baby” as I’m currently doing, just won’t work forever. I’ve seen a myriad of creative ideas from other parents, but I don’t care to rip anyone off, so I mulled it over for a while and finally found where I think is a good place to land.

So, without further ado:

“The Narrator” – Currently 4, loves trains, cars, peanut butter and nutella sandwiches. Hates trying new things, enforced ‘quiet time’ and brushing his teeth.
Reason for nickname: There’s never any wondering what’s happening when he’s around. Anything that’s on his mind, he’ll say. He has no secrets, and nothing at all can go past him without his commenting on it. If a TV show is on, he’ll literally narrate the whole thing to anyone who will listen, and if you won’t listen, he’ll do it until you do. And heaven help you if you interrupt his train of thought, because no matter how deep into a story he is, he’ll start over.

“Mini-me” – Currently 16 months old. Likes food, headbutting daddy, and at the moment- thinks biting people is hilarious. (we’re working on that) Dislikes: Naps, baths, putting clothes on.
Reason for nickname: He’s me. He looks like me, he’s a tiny bit insane (like me) – and when I’m home, he’s one of the only children in the world who will drop his mother’s hand and come running to me. He’s like daddy’s little girl- but he’s a boy. He’ll follow me everywhere, and will beg to come sit in my lap, even if I’m just reading a book or goofing off with my phone.
_______________________
Part II – Chaos

Yesterday evening was one of those times where all hell completely broke loose. The day at work was pretty laid back, I handled a few small things but nothing major. The trouble started on my way home.
As soon as I left work and got back into reasonable cell service, I started making some phone calls. I’m up to my eyeballs in the processing phase for my hopeful new job. The step I’m on now is gathering personal and professional references. The calls I made were to people who I think could prove to be an asset for me when they’re called by my potential employer. I left a few voicemails, had a few short chats, and got the ball rolling on my collection.

On the way home, I drove past the ambulance building, and noticed that there were two vehicles in the parking lot, and one of the rigs was gone. A call-out, nothing really to be concerned about since I wasn’t on duty. It was more of a casual observation than anything else.
I got home and everything was normal….for about half an hour. Then the phone rang, and it was my brother. We had a short conversation regarding jobs, then he asked “How’s dad?”
My reaction: “……erm…he’s….uh….why?”
My brother had been doing work for his father-in-law who is a member of my fire department, and he’d heard over the scanner that there was a 911 call to our parent’s house. Apparently the old man had a run-in with a table saw, but that’s all he knew.

Cue the initiation of the degeneration of circumstances at the house- right…..here.

At this point, I started getting texts and call-backs from the reference calls I’d made before, all the while trying to figure out what had happened to the old man. I finally heard from my mother that it was my ambulance that had taken him to a local hospital and she was on the way to meet him. Typical of the type of humor that gallops wildly in our family, I told her to “Make sure he doesn’t bleed all over my rig.” and to “Keep me posted.”

Since it was our crew that took him I looked up the schedule and texted the EMT that was on duty for some details. At that point, the ambulance coordinator also started texting me to find out what I knew…which at this point was nothing more than the score- Table saw: 1, Dad: 0.
EMT told me he didn’t know the extend of the damage, but it was a finger, and there was still feeling in it.
Reminder: I’m still fielding calls about the job stuff, and RIGHT about now it comes into dinner time….and The Narrator was NOT happy about being served the same food that mommy and I are eating. He protested and cried and screamed for FIFTEEN MINUTES about having to eat corn.
Mini-me is now pissed because mommy’s cooking dinner, I’m on the phone constantly, and nobody is paying attention to him. He starts to feel neglected and cries. Constantly. Looking at the clock, it is now 6PM, and MY shift for the ambulance starts, so now on top of everything, I’m glued to the scanner in case of a call.

The Narrator is still an emotional wreck because he has to eat his corn, and the sobbing is pitiful to the extent that it became funny and I had to excuse myself from the table so he didn’t see me laughing at him.

By 7:30, things simmered down. Dad was on his way home from the hospital, he’d severed a tendon and needs surgery but it otherwise in decent shape. After his argument with the table saw he packed the wound, made three phone calls, and hung out while waiting for the ambulance to arrive.
My father is cut from a very old-school type of cloth, where his first instinct was to pack the wound, throw a few band-aids on it and go back to work….and he would have too, if not for the severed tendon which prevented him from moving the finger at all.
Dinner was over, the corn had been eaten the tears were dried, and Mini-me was perched peacefully on my lap as “Doc McStuffins” played on the TV- the known prelude to bed in out house. The monitor stayed quiet, so I didn’t have to rush out to any calls.

For that short couple of hours between coming home from work and settling down for bed, the insanity level in the house was almost too much to bear. Between the two kids and their respective woes, to trying to track down information on the old man and gratefully returning the calls, texts, and messages from prospective references and others inquiring about dad, its a wonder that the Mrs. stopped at a single glass of wine after everyone was in bed, and no mystery at all why the two of us were asleep on the couch in no time flat once the extraordinary din generated by an ordinary family finally died down for the night.

Bonus: Mini-me slept through the night. I didn’t, but he did. Maybe good things are in the pipe.

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