Yesterday, I got a phone call. "Hello, this is the nurse calling from Middle School. I have Clover here in the office. She hit her head on a pole, and needs to be picked up."
On a... on a pole?
At this point, I barely bat an eye. I've been in training for years, and have heard my fair share of outrageous injury stories. The kids have stubbed their toes on the pavement, gotten thumbs tangled in soccer cleats, and generally just given the Band-Aid brand a fair share of business. These past months, though, have really taken the cake.
Back in January, Clover hit herself in the face with her violin, earning a genuine black eye for her trouble.
A couple of weeks later, Neptune was playing tag at recess, and ran full force into the side of a shed, giving himself a concussion. (He stayed home from school the next day, as did Clover-- she had the flu. It was a par-tay. I organised the craft closet.)
Two weeks ago, Neptune swallowed a dime. Yep, a dime. And yeah, he's 10. He was fine, of course. But... Seriously? It was an accident, but.. Again. Seriously?
And then, yesterday, that phone call from the nurse.
Girl ran into a pole. And has a concussion.
Don't worry, she'll survive. At least, this time.