As you can tell, it turned out to be not quite what we hoped for. The day went along with relative peace, but just before we were ready to head out the door to go to my parents' house for a cookout, Liam fell down and cut his chin on a wooden chair (one of the finds at the yard sales yesterday; I'm thinking this might be the first and last day that it's in our house). It's funny, considering how many times we yell at them to be careful when they're running and warn them that they could fall down and get hurt (especially on the sidewalk), that Liam was walking inside the house, minding his own business, when he tripped and fell.
Anyway, we knew right away that we would have to go to the ER for this one. Luckily, my grandparents were also getting ready to head to my mom's house, so we dropped Max off with them, then headed to the hospital with Liam. He ended up getting five stitches. It was an experience that he did not care for in the least. Getting anesthetized hurt, and got him started on the wrong foot. He screamed and cried and begged to get up the whole time. It just about broke our hearts. We were a little worried that he might be traumatized for the rest of the day/life, but he was perfectly fine by the time we got to my mom's house (two hours late). A little swollen, but otherwise in pretty good spirits, especially once he had some dinner.
Besides, I got six stitches in my forehead when I was six (swiped my uncle Matt's bike and was riding up and down Gram and Grandpa's driveway, then hit a big rock and fell off, landing on my face--good times!), and all I remember from the experience was the bright light, and my mom being there. At dinner, Mom told me how I screamed and cried, which I apparently have totally blocked out in the intervening years. So there's hope for poor Liam yet.
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