And to think I sent the pair of them to respite so I could have a day to myself while Dad was at the home.
I was stood there, calmly listening to Dad’s dismal tales of his terrible day, when the Smudgelet returned home.
Well, by minibus actually.
But both injured…. during the last half hour of the day.
I’ve always said Football is a dangerous sport. Tiddles was in goal, apparently. But what he forgot is that it’s not a good idea to reach out with your hands towards the ball when someone else’s foot is headed in the same direction. We think the finger is fractured slightly, judging by the interesting colour and impressive swelling, not to mention the “ouch” factor of my brave little soldier. SO it’s cold compresses and Nurofen every three hours through the night, apparently. Oh bliss.
Smudgelet feels a little robbed of attention, of course. After all, his injury is just as impressive but less needful of nursing care. He was most indignant that I wouldn’t tell the NHS Direct nurse about it. He had a run in, not with a football boot but with a carrier bag. A carrier bag containing a bottle of Dr Pepper’s which has contributed a lovely black-eye-to-be and a small plastic container of sour fruits which has managed to inflict a nasty cut right on his eyelid. While I was trying to bath Tiddles, he came out of his bed five times at thirty second intervals to complain that his eye stings. I informed him that if he came out a sixth time, his bottom stinging might take his mind off it … and miraculously he recovered and fell instantly asleep! You know, I should have been a nurse 😀