It began with escalating yelling from the playroom. From my well-worn spot on the sofa, it sounded like Little E was repeatedly wrecking something Big E was building. Typical annoying little brother stuff.
Before I could intervene, I heard one final yell and then a scream so high that all the neighborhood dogs were beckoned to my front door.
I ran to a hysterical Little E.
No response. Just silent crying.
HE WAS RUINING MY BUILDING! HE KEPT GRABBING THE BLOCKS. I HIT HIM IN THE HEAD.
Big E spoke up. His bottom lip was quivering. He knew he was in the dog house.
For the record, Little E was having a rough week as I'd already tried to wipe off his face with a soccer ball.
I knelt down to try and soothe him. I couldn't tell where the point of impact was. Maybe his forehead? There was a smudge of blood. Maybe Big E had cut him with the magnetic blocks.
It was only then did I notice the drip, drip, drip of blood onto my hardwoods.
WHERE IN THE HELL IS THAT COMING FROM?!
I bounded up the stairs to grab a wash cloth to put on Little E's gusher.
I found the cut in his hair, behind his ear. It was a doozy.
I yelled something at Big E about how his brother would look like Freddy Krueger by the time they both left for college. His once porcelain skin would be a road map of old fights and scars.
Big E ran upstairs and hid.
I called my dear friend, Nurse C.
CAN I COME OVER TO SHOW YOU LITTLE E'S GUSHING HEAD WOUND?
Big E bolted to the car. He was super pumped about this last minute play date. I was so upset with him I could barely speak.
In five minutes, Nurse C was working her magic on Little E. No stitches for him, thank goodness. His tears subsided, especially after Nurse C handed him a frozen pop.
NURSE C, WILL YOU BE MY BEST FRIEND?
We returned home with Nurse C's $500 medical bill and instructions to not wash Little E's hair for a day.
I got to work on the trail of dried blood. I scrubbed the floors until all evidence of bloodshed was gone. I just hope no one goes all CSI on this place and sprays that sh*t and shines that light on the floor right outside the playroom.
IT LOOKS LIKE SOMEONE IS TRYING TO HIDE SOMETHING, DETECTIVE!
I sure am! My ineptitude to raise peaceful, loving sons.
Weapons of mass destruction.
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