Today is Daddy Mac’s birthday! I think we are going to do a do-over on Sunday because he hasn’t gotten much of one at all. He ended up on a 7AM flight to Atlanta and back in River City at 5:30 PM, so we cancelled dinner plans with friends due to supreme exhaustion. Big bummer. Sam and I trotted all over Richmond all day—to Home Depot for flowers to plant and surprise Daddy, to Short Pump for his favorite beer at Whole Foods, and to Stony Point to get some ties for Daddy at Brooks Brothers.

When we got home, we baked a chocolate cake, Daddy’s favorite. Then we were making homemade pizza for the first time and waiting for the dough to rise. While cooking Sam insisted on wearing his Wall-E “protective glasses.“ (See picture!) While the dough was rising we adjourned for half an hour, Wall-E sunglasses discarded. As I went to put the clean laundry into the dryer, I heard a cry from Sam in the other room, a different kind of cry than the usual wail.

I ran back into the family room, and Sam was on the floor next to the coffee table screaming and holding his hand over his eye. “No, God, please, no!“ I prayed to myself. “Lift up your hand. Let me see,“ I told him as calmly as I could. I was so relieved only (only?) to see a red gash over his eye on his eyebrow. I thought it didn’t look big enough for stitches, but to be on the safe side we literally walked straight out the door to the pediatricians to get it checked out. I left a message for Daddy Mac, but his flight from Atlanta had already taken off.

After a mere glance at him in the waiting room (and stares from everyone else there), the pediatrician told us to head to the emergency room for stitches because the cut has more of a gash. So off we went, my hands trembling the whole way. Sam was just upset that he didn’t get to ride there in an ambulance. “Maybe someday I’ll get an ambulance,“ he hoped. It’s a good thing I was so distracted. Another message for Daddy Mac.

When we got there, I realized he didn’t have any shoes, and I felt naked without my usual liter of water by my side. To make a long story short, he got three stitches right on his eyebrow, three more than I’ve ever had in my life or Daddy Mac for that matter. It definitely was right up there as one of my worst parenting moments, holding him down as he writhed and screamed with all of the shoulda- coulda - woulda’s running sprints through my head. Here’s a sampler—if he had fallen even half an inch lower, he would have lost an eye. Gulp. The doctor felt bad for the whole ordeal so he offered me a popsicle too when he gave one to Sam. I told him only if it had alcohol. Two more messages for Daddy Mac until he was finally on the ground.

So instead of homemade pizza for Daddy Mac, he picked up his own take-out pizza. Poor Daddy Mac! Happy birthday! How about that do-over for real?

LibbY