The Dented Finger

When our boys get together with their best friends, chaos almost always ensues. They're 9, 9, 7 and 6. And they're BOYS. It's always sword fighting and Nerf gun shooting and THIS IS OUR BASE and GET YOUR OWN BASE and LET'S LOCK THE LITTLE BROTHERS IN THE BEDROOM and then THEY LOCKED US IN THE BEDROOM!!!

Last night, my best friend (who is also the mama of my boys' best friends) had us over for a most delicious meal. She invited our associate pastor and his daughter because his wife and other daughter are off  gallivanting around Haiti with my husband. (Okay so they're with a missions organization building homes and ministering to the Haitians. But still. Gallivanting.)

As the adults talked, the boys participated in the above mentioned chaos. At one point, a high pitched shriek rang out. "BEN!" my friend yelled at her youngest. As the shriek continued, he appeared, dressed as Indiana Jones and not yelling at all. That's when I realized it was one of mine. The scream continued and then subsided only to be replaced with Matthew's voice yelling unintelligible things. His finger had been accidentally slammed--and then stuck--in the hinge side of the door.

A long dent ran across it.

"IS IT BROKEN????" he repeatedly asked me when it was freed. He could bend it with ease so I assured him that it was not. He'd calm down for a minute and then he'd start writhing and sobbing all over again. At one point he wailed, "I just want dad!"

Eventually, his sobbing induced his seventh nose bleed in five days. Our associate pastor, Chris, who is horribly prone to nose bleeds, sprang into action and started assisting with the nose bleed while I held the writhing six-year-old. I finally announced that we'd have to leave because I just couldn't get him to settle down. "Can you carry me?" he cried.

"Hey bud, can I carry you instead?" Chris asked. Without responding, Matthew curled up on the ground in the fetal position. Apparently, it was a decided no. I heaved him up into my arms. By the time we got home, Matthew was calmed down and talking coherently to me. He climbed the stairs and put himself to bed fully clothed.

I'm a smart, self-sufficient, modern day, independent woman. I have people here who are more than willing to help when things go wrong. But I'll be very glad to have my husband back tomorrow. He forgets his wallet and his standard of cleanliness is beneath mine but he's kind of the super glue that holds this family together. We work better with him here, is what I'm saying.