Raise your hand if you'd like to wrap this hell of a year up and move on to the next (my hand is touching the ceiling). We can call January-June 2020a, and July-December can be 2020b and we can all have lame virtual zoom social distancing new years eve parties to say goodbye to the most insane past 6 months in history. Maybe in 2020b, everyone in our country will wear masks in public to protect themselves and each other, everyone will understand that black lives matter and will put in the work to be anti racist, and Obama will be president again! Fine, I'm pushing it- but how about two out of three?
The past 7 days have been a roller coaster of a week that could rival Kingda Ka. It started on Sunday, with Father's Day. It was a great day filled with family bike rides and lots of daddy cuddles, ending with an outdoor social distancing get together to spend time with my dad and family and devour my mom's famous ice cream cake. The following day was Irv's Birthday, even though his birthday has never been so close to Father's Day in the past (I blame 2020a. And Trump). The kids spent the morning with an incredible babysitter, and Irv and I had our first date since March. We walked around a reservoir, talked, laughed, had a delicious picnic lunch, missed the kids and went home. It was great. Later that afternoon we decided to take a bike ride. About 5 minutes in to our ride, on a dead end street in our neighborhood, Josh took one of his infamous sharp turns that I have been begging him to stop doing since we took off his training wheels two months ago. I knew by the screams coming from him that this fall was not like the others, but was relieved when I saw no blood, scratches or bones protruding from anywhere. But I did notice an egg forming on his shin, and he was insisting that he couldn't move an inch, so Irv rode home, came back with the car, and we transported him safely to the couch to elevate, medicate and ice the bump that seemed to be growing by the second.
A few minutes later I noticed that he was fast asleep even though it was only 5pm, his favorite show was on the TV, and he knew the cheesecake we ordered together was about to be delivered for Irv's birthday dinner. Between those oddities, the fact that his leg now had a big indent above the huge bump and text responses to the picture I had sent out that it looked bad, we decided to head over to urgent care. Because of our amazing neighbors, we didn't have to worry about what to do with Zoey, and the three of us were off. Urgent care comprised of incredibly sweet nurses, a popsicle, an x-ray and a diagnosis of a fractured tibia. Sleep was tough that night, with his leg wrapped loosely and incredibly painful, but we got through it together. The next day after a visit to an Orthopedist and another x-ray, he was armed with a bright red (his choice), full leg cast to be worn for 4-6 weeks along with weekly x-rays to make sure the bone is doing what it's supposed to do.
It's hard to explain to a 5-year-old, on the first day of summer, who has been quarantined at home for 3 months, that he won't be going to the beach, swimming in our inflatable pool, jumping on our new trampoline, going on any bike rides or walks or scooters for a while, but I kept reminding myself that freak accidents happen all the time and to be grateful that this is fixable and temporary. Did we have to cancel our 4th of July weekend to the White Mountains? Yes. Are there worse things? Hell yes. His sister couldn't have been more helpful and caring, and not a bit jealous, even when our family and friends came by to shower him with love and affection (and what seemed like the entire amazon warehouse of toys). Ok, she was a little jealous, but hid it well and has been incredible. He still has his neighbor friends to play with outside, loves getting his cast signed, and thanks to more amazing friends he has a child size wheelchair and Burley bike attachment so he doesn't have to sit on the couch for 6 weeks straight. Walks and bike rides around the neighborhood help him get fresh air and a change of scenery.
All in all, I was feeling like everything was sort of under control. And then Zoey started screaming in the backyard yesterday afternoon. My heart was racing as I ran to see what happened from the patio. It was a bee sting, on her toe. Thanks 2020a. And Trump. Let me tell you, removing a stinger on someone who won't let you touch her foot and is screaming bloody murder is something I'd never like to relive. I'd also never like to relive running around my house at 1am searching for the benadryl while my daughter screams that her foot is throbbing and my son yelling that he can't comfortable with his full leg cast in the other room.
And so, I'd like propose that starting July 1 we ring in a new chapter- one with less viruses, less racism, less broken bones, less incompetent leaders, less bee stings, less virtual school and less quarantine. Who's with me?
