Wolf cubs.

We went to Great Wolf Lodge this past weekend. This is because, as a college professor, there is no easier time than a week or so before the end of semester to really kick back and relax. Good things there aren't any papers to grade or theses to read... oh, yeah, nevermind.

Anyway, despite the mound of papers that I've been successfully ignoring for eons... we had a fabulous time.

What always strikes me, though, is how darned different our three boys are.

J took the two big boys around first, while I played with the little guy.

T, the little guy, wanted to be with his daddy... but, he was ok to hang out with second best. He loved playing in the splashing areas, getting wet, and adored pushing a tube around in the wave pool (even if he did get a bit irate when the waves started).

B (who is otherwise rugged and unstoppable) showed his colors, he is boisterous but not overly adventurous. He was tentative about new experiences there and wanted to hold hands and not be surprised. Of course, it didn't help that the first thing he did at the park with J was... go down the Howlin Tornado (eeep).

Z would try anything. He didn't ask to do the Howlin Tornado a second time, but he jumped onto the surfboard without reservation (and knocked out and swallowed a tooth on it - it was ok, we'd been waiting for it to fall). His only problem - we couldn't keep up with him. He was off like an arrow in every direction. He also went through one of the tunnels that you are supposed to ride a tube - without the tube. What a wild man.

Still struggling.

I can type now... a little. So, I'll have a go at what started this recent wrinkle. The big wrinkle, the really lastest small wrinkle is that I seem to have injured my shoulder picking up the baby with only my good arm - doh!

I took the big boys (Z at six and a half, and B at four) to visit my brother's place at the coast for a few days. We had one fabulous day of fishing, beaching, playing and generally playing around. We visited Cape Lookout one last time to play in the waves and horse around. The National Park Service guy came out and let us know that there was a severe weather front on the way. So, we hightailed it to about five minutes away.

It looked like we might beat the storm... then, Z let us know that he left his shoes on the beach (his ONLY shoes). So, we turned around to get them (happy thoughts all around here). We grab the shoes from the beach and head for home. On a power boat is not a good place to get caught in an electrical storm - 'nuff said. After not a little anxiety.

Back at my big brother's place, we crack some beers and I clean up the kids. Once the storm passes, I run to the boat to get the cooler, clothes, etc. and get myself organized. I was wearing my crocs (say what you will, they are PERFECT boat shoes). I got the cooler unpacked, brought in and rinsed the gear that required it, and was ready to think about showering. I had to make one last run to my car, barefoot this time.

I knew the carport was slick, but without shoes - my feet flew out from under me. My right arm was full. "Mom"-mode kicked in high gear and I held my precious package high in my arm and sacrificed my left hand in the fall. I came down like a ton of bricks and instantly knew it really fucking hurt was not good. I dropped the F-bomb at full volume quietly thought myself foolish for not just landing on my well-padded ass sitting down. Fortunately, the boys were distracted.

I ran in and iced it down, hoping fully that it would be just fine after a little rest and ice. In that it looked deformed, I realized that hope was a pipe dream probably optimistic. So, I left my boys with my brother (whose youngest child is a college senior) and hoped for the best. They ran roughshod over him while I took off for the ER.

I had the most surprising ER visit ever. Every staff member was polite and pleasant and I was in and out of there in 90 minutes. The ER doctor was younger than I am and quite nice incompetent. He diagnosed a hairline fracture and suggested I see an orthopedist in a few days just to make sure we didn't miss a bone chip. I figured it would get more comfortable after a day or so, so I tucked in and spent a few more days at the beach, re-splinting it as necessary. Basically, I was putting off the long drive home with one hand and two children. Gosh, this sure did hurt a lot for a hairline fracture (duh).

Five days after the injury, I saw the orthopedist. "Well, dear, it isn't a hairline fracture". Oh. "I usually go in surgically, add a few pins and a plate and fix it up". Hmmmm.

I asked "can we do something else?" "How are you with pain?" he asked.

I am so tough and rugged afraid of hospitals that I decided to go for it. So he did the old snaparoo. I howled - not so tough after all, eh?

I wear this stinky cast for another two weeks. Just a few thoughts keep resurfacing.

• I would have been ok with a longer ER wait in exchange properly setting the bone without having to break the damn thing a second time.


• My precious four year old son is an absolute prince for helping me get dressed for three days after the fracture.


• Next time, it would be better (mom or not) to drop the dirty laundry than fracture a bone.