We had an eventful 24 hours at the old homestead not too many days ago. And, as usual at Casa de Rush eventful, interesting, noteworthy or momentous moments happen to and revolve around our two angelic, all-American, blue-eyed and blond-haired lads. Ah, just what would life be like without Sir Shamus and Master Sean?
This particular 24-hour period started on a Sunday evening — after dinner. Shamus, aka The Eating Machine, finished his vittles in a flash and something amazing happened . . .
Five year old Shamus (whom we fondly refer to as Jerry Ford — because Shamus is as clumsy as comedian Chevy Chase portrayed the former president) did not fall out of his chair. It’s a good day when Shamus doesn’t at some point during a meal wiggle his way off his chair onto the floor. Well, this evening was going swell. Shamus made it through dinner with nary a bruise or abrasion. When he exited the dining room to the living room, he decided to burn off a little excess energy.
He put one hand on the armrest of our living room chair, and the other hand on the couch’s armrest. These two pieces of furniture are about 18 inches apart and worked together, they make good play things for the boys. Shamus, hands in place, lifted his body off the floor and started to swing his legs forwards and back . . . wards . . . whoops.
Shamus’ legs flew back, his hands slipped and plop, he hit the deck. I guess there’s a reason why they call them hardwood floors and Shamus found out why. He hit the floor face first.
I was just nine feet away watching him. He stood up, hands over his face, crying.
And, as any masculine, stiff-upper-lip-and-all father figure would, I said, “Shamus, stop crying. You only fell two feet. You’re not even bleeding . . .”
That’s when he moved his hands and all that blood fell from his nose to the floor. Lucky for Shamus, he’s got a good mother. Jen calmly led him to the bathroom, cleaned him up and slowed the tidal wave of red plasma to a trickle.
“Get your coat on, Shamus,” his mother said. “We’re going to the hospital.”
A couple of hours waiting in the emergency room for bloody Shamus and his dear mother and the doctor finally had time to look at his nose.
“Yep. It’s broken. Not much we can do about it now. See a doctor. No wrestling. No gym class . . . Next!”
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Now that I’ve been nominated for Father Heel of The Year, I’ll start being a little more caring and thoughtful and a little less sarcastic . . . right.
* * *
The aforementioned 24-hour period that started with Shamus ended with Sean. And, while Shamus was a victim of circumstance, Sean was a victim of his own brashness. Sean, who will be three next week, is a showman. He’s all about stealing the spotlight, showing off and well, just being Sean.
At the end of the 24-hour period Mr. Funny was playing with his two year old friend, Lexi. They were in the bedroom doing the things that boys and girls do when they are alone in a bedroom — you know, play with puzzles, toy cars, stuffed animals and read books.
Apparently, one of those things boys do when they are alone with a girl is show off. There’s no quicker way to a woman’s heart than to show her how wonderful of a guy you are. And, I guess Sean decided a neat trick of maleness for his female friend was to shove a seashell up one of the nostrils of his little button nose.
He wedged it in there good and tight. So, good and tight that dear old mom couldn’t get it out.
“Get your coat on, Sean,” his mother said. “We’re going to the hospital.”
Mr. Funny had wedged it so good and deep and tight that it took the doctor an hour to get the little shell out. They finally had to get out the vacuum to complete the extraction. And, true to form, Mr. Funny, aka Sean, aka Showman, kept the hospital staff in good spirits while he waited for the doctor.
According to Jen, Sean sang for the medicalis. “You better not pout, you better not cry. You better not shout, I’m telling you why, Santa Claus is coming to town.”
Leave it to Sean.
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So, just what would life be like without Sir Shamus and Master Sean? Boring. Very boring.
Comments for parental unit Don can be e-mailed to: dontrushmedon@aol.com