Getting back to normal
If I’ve been a little remiss on the ol’ website as of late, it’s just that this is the first week I’ve had any time to sit down with the laptop at the café and put finger to keypad. Ike started back at school Tuesday even though I’m not sure how prepared he was for that to happen. Let’s just say his schedule is still strictly on vacation hours; by which I mean that he was awake and chatting in his room at close to 1 a.m. this morning.
That’s the kind of kid Ike is though, and I think if it were up to him, school would start right after the sun sets, and he would sleep in past 10 a.m. every morning. When I went into his room to give him a kiss goodbye this morning, he didn’t even budge. Sweetie said he didn’t even open his eyes until he was being loaded up into the school bus. Talk about a rude awakening.
Monday he went to see the surgeon who took off the soft cast on his right leg that had been pissing him off. All the sites where they had to go in to take hardware out and release tendons looked good and were healing up nicely. Ike’s doctor does a nice job of going back in through previously used sites, so while Ike had to have three incisions, he really came home with only one brand new scar. Years ago I set about counting them, but he’s gotten at least three since then I think, so I’m not really sure where his total’s at these days, besides, do you count one scar twice if it’s been cut into on more than one occasion? Somewhere more than ten but less than fifteen would be my best guess.
I have one—the result of an old nail sticking out between the boards of a pier that I managed not to see. I remember being held down by everyone involved when they stitched me up.
I used to be pretty proud of it, but really it’s a pretty lame scar, as far as scars are concerned. Ike’s big one stretches the whole width of his abdomen in a long white frown. The stitch marks make the whole thing look like the mouth of a great white shark.
Mine rests just on the inside flesh of my right calf and is only about an inch long and looks like a little white slug trying to get out of the sun.
I’m hoping that this is it—that this will be the last time we have to see our little guy go under the knife, but I’m not sure how realistic that is. Like all things with Ike, I try not to get to involved in where the future is taking us, and just live in the day to day of it all. The future will take care of itself without any worrying from me anyway, right?
That’s the kind of kid Ike is though, and I think if it were up to him, school would start right after the sun sets, and he would sleep in past 10 a.m. every morning. When I went into his room to give him a kiss goodbye this morning, he didn’t even budge. Sweetie said he didn’t even open his eyes until he was being loaded up into the school bus. Talk about a rude awakening.
Monday he went to see the surgeon who took off the soft cast on his right leg that had been pissing him off. All the sites where they had to go in to take hardware out and release tendons looked good and were healing up nicely. Ike’s doctor does a nice job of going back in through previously used sites, so while Ike had to have three incisions, he really came home with only one brand new scar. Years ago I set about counting them, but he’s gotten at least three since then I think, so I’m not really sure where his total’s at these days, besides, do you count one scar twice if it’s been cut into on more than one occasion? Somewhere more than ten but less than fifteen would be my best guess.
I have one—the result of an old nail sticking out between the boards of a pier that I managed not to see. I remember being held down by everyone involved when they stitched me up.
I used to be pretty proud of it, but really it’s a pretty lame scar, as far as scars are concerned. Ike’s big one stretches the whole width of his abdomen in a long white frown. The stitch marks make the whole thing look like the mouth of a great white shark.
Mine rests just on the inside flesh of my right calf and is only about an inch long and looks like a little white slug trying to get out of the sun.
I’m hoping that this is it—that this will be the last time we have to see our little guy go under the knife, but I’m not sure how realistic that is. Like all things with Ike, I try not to get to involved in where the future is taking us, and just live in the day to day of it all. The future will take care of itself without any worrying from me anyway, right?
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