It started off an innocent enough Sunday (which is how Sundays should start off...). I will admit, I kind of wanted to stay at home (instead of going to church) just for a little extra rest time. But duties awaited, and I had no choice but to get up and go worship with a sincere heart.
Hi ho, hi ho, it is off to church we go...
We arrived at church, dropped kiddos off, then we went to our own Sunday School class.
I should probably interject that child 4 is handling his new class beautifully. He clings to me a little bit when we first walk in but he is good about separating now and smiles as I walk out the door. Oh, and he is learning Bible verses. I don't think he will ever forget Genesis 1:1. We hear it alot.
Anyway, for this particular Sunday, I was scheduled to help out in the nursery with newborns (to about six months old) for the Second Hour. Typically, our family assists, but there are rules about children helping out with the littlest babies. So I signed up with a friend of mine in a similar situation. The plan was for Mark to go on to church with the other kids while I rocked babies all morning. :) Unfortunately, our plan took a bit of a turn when we were needed in child 4's class, so that is where Mark and the other kids ended up Sunday morning. I am pretty sure I had more fun. :)
I just have to say, I LOVE rocking babies. And the newborn stage is one of my favorites. I know, I know, a lot of people don't like that stage because there is so little activity. They eat, they sleep. I think that is what I love about it. I am pretty sure that heaven will consist of rocking sleeping babies all day long.
After church, we headed home for a little R and R. We ate some of this, some of that, then it was naptime...my favorite part of a Sunday afternoon. While the little ones (and eventually I) went down for a nap, Mark and the big kids went out to the backyard to assemble our daughter's basketball goal. She got it for her birthday. In June. And she has reminded us of this every single weekend since.
A while later, I woke up and settled into my comfy chair with the i-Touch to catch up on e-mails and play my turn on Words with Friends (which is addictive by the way). I heard kind of a banging noise, but around here with four kids, it wasn't a sound that truly fazed me. Then I heard my dear husband tell our daughter to come get me. Again, no alarm in his voice, and she never really did come in. I finished up an e-mail and decided I better make sure all was fine.
I walked out the back door to find the goal on the ground and Mark with blood on his hands. "Get me a clean rag please."
I thought, "Oh, he cut his hand..." And I retrieved a clean rag. When I brought it, he told me it needed to be cold and wet. Men. Do they think I can read their minds?
When I returned with a clean, cold, wet rag, THAT is the point that said husband told me that the goal had fallen and he was bleeding...from the back of his head.
Thankfully for him, I am not squeamish (unless it involves vomit which I still cannot deal with).
I won't go into details for the rest of the world that IS squeamish. I will say that there was a nice size opening on the back of the head. We came inside, he stretched out on the floor, and I applied as much pressure as I could while warding off the littlest one who was very curious about what was going on.
Then we started that game. I am not good at this game. To go to the ER or not got to the ER, that is the question.
And on that note, I am going to have to stop. And this can be a "To be continued episode" of the Cloud Crew...