No Fences Were Harmed in the Making of This Post

All apologies for the infrequent posts of late.  No good excuses.  Sadly, it has taken a trip to the emergency room to get us back to the keyboard.  Many of our faithful readers (and the Facebook crowd) are already aware that Walt decided to take a dive into the iron fence surrounding the playground at school on Friday, thereby earning himself a trip to Methodist Le Bonheur Children's Hospital.  Much like the day Evie decided to play chicken with a truck, I forgot my phone and learned this bit of news through the firm's switchboard.  (It has been declared that in the future I am to retrieve my phone the instant I realize I've forgotten it.)

Anyway, we haven't seen the fence, yet, but Walt has four brand new shiny stitches and a little lump on his head.  This is what he looked like prior to getting the stitches.

As you can see, he was not really concerned.  He maintained this demeanor throughout the procedure including when the "stitch guy" was repeatedly sewing closed the hole in his head immediately above his right eye and the suture was dragging across his nose.  He especially liked the forced irrigation of the gaping wound prior to the sewing.  He said it tickled.  His mommy was anything but.

As a brief aside, we inquired whether we should employ a plastic surgeon for the repair of our only child's previously perfect cranium.  "No," we were told.  The "stitch guys" around here are better than the doctors."  Stitch guys???  What is this boxing?  Do you have a "cut guy", too?  Are they going to squeeze a sponge on the back of his neck?  Sure enough.  The "stitch guy," whose name we didn't get, came in in his Mickey Mouse t-shirt, surveyed the situation, numbed Walty's noggin and proceded to close up the gash in Walty's head with all of the composure of a high stakes poker player.  Imagine repeatedly sticking a needle and thread into and through someone else's three-year old while both parents stand over your shoulder.  Yeah.  He didn't seemed phased.  Even when I blew in his ear.

It should be noted, and Putty takes full credit for this for some reason, that Walt never shed a tear during the entire ordeal.  From what I've heard and seen, it sounds as if the teachers and Mommy were closer to tears than Baby Frankenstein was.

So, of course, Walt got to choose the dinner restaurant and after a tasty grilled cheese at Huey's, a trip to the river to watch the sunset and throw some rocks, and a visit from roadside assistance (long story, long day), he retired for the day falling asleep before his banged up little head hit the pillow.

This morning he awoke early possibly because he anticipated continued sympathy and junk food.  He wasn't disappointed.  Muffins, toast, donuts, mac 'n' cheese, hot dog, etc, etc.  Hopefully, poor nutrition doesn't contribute to scarring. 

The social calendar didn't suffer from the injury.  The day began with a trip to the Farmer's Market, as usual, and then it was off to meet, oh, just about everyone we know at the Clanjamfry Scottish Festival.  It was just me and Walt, and I apparently left my good judgment in the car, because I didn't really put up a fight when Walt suggested that he be allowed to get in the inflatable, bouncy castle with ten other hard-headed children flinging themselves about with reckless abandon.  It crossed my mind that this might not be a good idea, but it was too late.  No harm, no foul, right?

Walt wore himself out.  He took a two-plus hour nap and then it was off to the new Levitt Shell for Grupo Fantasma, the rockinest Latin dance band you've ever heard of.

Here's some grainy, unsteady video of Walt proposing to Mer that they dance for me and my camera phone.

Whew.  I'm tired.  And I don't have a hole in my head.