My blog flow has been seriously disrupted lately because (1) my phone, which is for all intents and purposes my only camera, has often been in the hands of Mr. P for large portions of the day and (2) I've got the iOS 7 beta running on said phone and some apps I kind of rely on don't work at the moment. Including my blogging app.
I love swinging in the net swing, by myself or with a kid.
I get a little woozy if I'm swinging with Mr. P and he takes charge of the swing and spins us a whole lot. I prefer just swinging.
It turns out I really like the spinning apparatus at the playground, though. The cup you sit in and it spins around and around if you tilt your weight just right? And the one with the slightly tilted disk directly below a thing that looks like a steering wheel mounted to an overhead bar? Hold onto the steering wheel, stand on the disk, push just right with your feet back and forth and you twist quite beautifully.
I really REALLY like having groceries delivered. (Thank you, Amazon Fresh.)
Mr. P can cry for a really long time about not getting a Lego set that he really really wants and has wanted forever and I knew you would say no and now I feel like I'm going to die!!!!
I cannot believe the efficiency of the state and local government around here. Getting a driver's license at the DMV was crazy fast and pleasant. Then —and this is related, I promise, you'll see — Mr. P hit a big root that was growing through a sidewalk crack while riding his scooter last week and by last night when we revisited the scene to show Daddy the impressiveness of the root... the sidewalk was GONE and the offending tree and two others next to it were marked with signs explaining that Seattle's policy is to preserve trees whenever possible but that necessary root trimming during sidewalk replacement might cause these trees to become too unstable, in which case they would have to be removed. Which would be accomplished within 14 days of the posting of this notice. And listed the dollar amount appraised for each tree.
I think I managed to miss telling the story of the scooter accident, actually, now that I mention it? We were coming home from the playground and Shmoogie had wanted to ride the glide bike, which she had actually stuck with for the first time ever, so I was staying with her. Mr. P was zooming way ahead and I was doing that mother compromise thing where I tell myself that he's ok because he has a helmet on and there's not much traffic and he's been really good about stopping at streets lately and he's three years older than Shmoogie and I really can't leave Shmoogie alone completely and he's so far ahead that yelling is utterly pointless, except as a method of humiliating myself, because he will never, ever, answer, but that's ok because he's fine because...
And then I hear him crying. This in itself does not alarm me. He cries a lot. It could be anything. But then we get a little further around the bend towards him and I see someone stopping their car (I think they were in a car? I'm not really sure, but that's the impression I had) and running towards where I see the scooter on the ground, which is in or nearly in a driveway, and that's when I feel fear and start running, leaving Shmoogie in the dust, because I am suddenly convinced that this person that is running towards my screaming child has just hit him with his car.
That's not what happened. What happened is what you already know, that Mr. P's scooter hit this huge root in the sidewalk and BAM went chin-first on the pavement. The very nice person running towards him happened to have seen the accident and came to the rescue, actually giving Mr. P a running piggy-back ride towards me once he saw me coming (I heard him saying, "It's ok, your mom's coming, just a minute"). And then he insisted on going into his house and getting us some tissues to stem the flow of blood from Mr. P's chin while we headed home (I was reflexively refusing his offer of a car ride home, not wanting to be a nuisance; I've realized that I strive hard, though maybe ineffectively and maybe inadvisably, not to be a nuisance).
By the time we got home (it was a little further than I had thought), I was carrying the scooter, Shmoogie's bike, and trying to talk the new pediatrician on the phone to find out if there was an urgent care we should go to because, not having actually done the stitches thing yet with either of the kids, the two splits on his chin looked potentially worth having someone other than me deal with.
But, in the end, partly because it was bedtime and partly because urgent care visits aren't cheap and partly because Mr. P had calmed down considerably and Mr. Right (who got home soon after) pointed out quite reasonably that Mr. P would probably not do well with getting shots of novicane in his face and having it stitched up and partly because Uncle Doctor was willing to talk to us on the phone even though it was really late in his time zone, we didn't go anywhere except to the freshly-unpacked band-aid shelf to try three (actually, I think it was four) different types of band-aids and methods of application before the last one finally seemed to have closed off the blood flow. Head wounds are so messy.
There were also some abrasions on knee and hand and maybe elbow, but who's counting?
If there's a scar, I hope it turns out nicely.
Point is, though, it must have been "that nice man", as Mr. P now calls him, that called up the city and said, Hey, dangerous sidewalk here, and the city totally said, Woah, thanks, we'll fix that, and they're fixing it. Now. Yesterday.