Every year I host my family's Big Fat Greek Thanksgiving. It is a day to go all out food-wise, much like most of us in the US. I start cooking, baking, and preparing days before Thursday. I knew my little ones would be home from pre-school with me, so I planned ahead. I bought them each a little set of Legos. Usually, they either get a new set for their birthday or a holiday, and since the day before Thanksgiving, when I really needed them to keep busy, was neither of these, they were very excited.
Our kitchen is wide open with a decent sized island in the middle. It was what made me fall in love with this house, because I really do spend a lot of time in the kitchen. The dining room wall was knocked out a few years ago so most of the first floor is all open. We sold our dining room set because it was too fancy shmancy to have with kids around. The wide open dining room/kitchen has turned into a great place for the kids to play while I am cooking. Hubs and I always say that when we grow up, we'll get a dining room again. (More like when our kids grow up, but we can't bear to say it that way).
|They couldn't have picked a better day to do this to me. Thanksgiving Eve...the most complicated day in the kitchen.|
So picture the two little ones, on the floor in the dining room, joyfully playing with Legos. There I am in the kitchen, baking not one but two different things. I had baked cut out cookies (a huge hobby of mine that I enjoy immensely) and while waiting for them to cool before icing them, I was making cornbread. I had mixers, bowls, icing, tools, pans, half of the kitchen all over my counter. It was making my blood pressure soar, but this is the chaos that you take on when volunteering to have Thanksgiving. I hadn't even started the really complicated stuff yet. When my kitchen, and stage of baking was at its most involved point, the boys started arguing over one particular Lego piece. It, apparently, was a hockey puck. Each of them claimed it was theirs for various reasons. Next thing I know, Youngest is crying.
I stop what I am doing, wipe the gook from my hands on my apron and run over to them to see what is going on. I ask Youngest why he is (hysterically now) crying, and he answered that he hid the Lego. In. His. Nose. My first thought was to ask Why would you put it in your nose????!!!!! And through his hysterics I heard, I wanted to hide it in a place he couldn't find it! Wow.
I turn into Freak Out Mama. I start to panic. He could aspirate this Lego and then we're really in trouble. I try to assess his nose, his breathing and I'm like - forget this. We're getting in the car. All of this assessment took approximately 60 seconds. I grab my purse, shut off the oven, and fly out the door. While buckling the kids into their carseats, I am fueled by Youngest's terrorizing screams. I dial my doctor's office which is literally 2 minutes from the house, as I figure it'll be safer and quicker to go there than to the ER, not to mention the fact that the ER will cost an arm and a leg (and quite possibly a nose), so if I can avoid a $200 emergency room bill, I would like to! I quickly rattle off to the receptionist what's going on and she urges me to just bring him in and skip the ER. I feel a sense of relief as I know we just have to hold on a little longer.
I rush them both into the office. They are waiting for us. We get right into the examining room and the doctor has me hold him still as he inserts a long, tweezer-like instrument into his nose. He winces, in a big way, and kicks his leg and I am thinking this is going to be bad. I'm grateful that he didn't kick the doc in the junk since his foot was pretty darn close to that region. The doctor pulls the tweezers out carefully and quickly and Youngest lets out a huge sneeze, shooting the Lego into the doctor's face, nearly shooting his eye out. (You'll shoot your eye out kid..is what immediately comes to mind and I think, No More Effing Legos - 'I don't want anybody shootin'-his-eye-out in the voice of Ralphie's poor mom in A Christmas Story). I am mortified at this point. The doctor rebounds nicely from the snot covered hockey puck-to the eye he just endured.
|I don't want anyone shooting his eye out.|
That was it. All of this took under 90 seconds. The Dr. washed his hands, wished us a Happy Thanksgiving, told Youngest to never put anything in any openings in his body every again, and was on his way. For a brief second, I thought hmm, I wonder if they'll even charge me for this since it was a blink of an eye. Bahahahahahaaaaaa...ohhh that was funny. I gathered my composure and the kids, and headed home to my mess of a kitchen. When we got home, I made them clean up all of the Legos and put them at the kitchen table to draw Thanksgiving pictures for the family until I could finish my baking. Crisis (somewhat) averted.
Not long after, I got the bill. $540. The $200 Emergency Room bill isn't sounding so bad.
Legos - $20
Removal of Lego from Nasal Orifice - $540
Shooting the Dr in the eye with a mucus-covered flying hockey puck - Priceless
|Grateful no one got hit in the junkular region.|
On Thanksgiving, it was very easy for me to say what I was thankful for. A great doctor with a wonderful sense of humor, quick thinking, and a cheery disposition. And thankful for my boys. Always for my boys.
Until next time, the sign reads, 113 days without a Lego accident,