Tuesday, September 6, 2016

Broken Bones and Beautiful Beaches

Thursday morning was glorious.  My husband and I kissed and hugged the kids goodbye, and after a few little tears from me, we headed out for a long weekend together.  Almost four hours into our drive, which was full of sentences that were able to be completed and conversation that didn't revolve around Nerf guns and potty words, we got a phone call from my mother-in-law.

"I hate to be the bearer of bad news. . ." she began, and my heart sank.  My sweet 10-year-old son had fallen on the playground and it was suspected his arm was broken.

We pulled over to talk to people involved and decided to wait at a nearby Panera.  We didn't want to go any further in case he needed surgery or there were complications, but we didn't think we needed to necessarily turn right around at that point either.

So there we sat, in the Panera, for about two hours, before we heard the verdict:  broken, and needed to be set before being casted. My mother-in-law, who is ever calm in a crisis told me that all was fine and we indeed did not need to come home.  She also reported that my son had said right away, "Mom and Dad don't need to come home!  I will be fine with you and Papa."  My heart was so torn. . .I was so proud of my boy for his bravery, but not to be with him in the hospital seemed hard to bear.

Turns out we wouldn't have made it home in time for the procedure anyway, and he did great through it all.  He got to go home with an awesome Sonic-blue cast, and some good pain meds.  We talked and texted often during the weekend and, save for a few minor ups and downs, he did very well.  Everyone was very proud of his bravery and calm attitude though it all.

So, while my in-laws (and then later my parents), took care of all the kids, my husband and I relaxed.  We sat on the beach (a lot), read, talked, ate well, slept in, and generally had a wonderful time.  We take this long weekend together every year, and it recharges us each time.  My identity is so tied into being a mother, and these weekends away remind my with such joy that I am a wife first.

As we came into town today, we knew we would hit the ground running.  Tomorrow is packed from 6:50 am to 8:30 pm with little break between activity, and today had its own share of business as well.  But we felt ready to tackle all that was in front of us, having been rejuvenated by the time together. We hugged and squeezed the kids and my heart was full of love for my family.

**As further proof of all the togetherness we enjoyed:  I needed to text my husband when we got home and went our separate ways.  I scrolled down my texts, looking for our last exchange. . .and I scrolled and scrolled and kept scrolling, and still hadn't gotten to my husband's name.  I went down thirty-four people before I found his name (I attribute the higher number of texts to my son's injury).  I loved what that signified!  I hadn't needed to text my husband in days and days, because we had been together!

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