Rich and I were less than a mile from home, on our way with dinner (yummy burgers from Fuddrucker's) when Rich's cell rang.
Frankie: "Winnie fell off the swing set and cut her tongue."
No Fudd's for us.
Rich looked first as I tended to Lizzie, who was inconsolable over her sister's pain and worried over the possibility of catching another glimpse of the tongue.
Mouth injuries heal fast and sometimes there is a question of weather or not to seek treatment and usually Rich is overly dramatic about things. Well, after he saw it he wasn't sure if she needed to go to the ER or not, so he called there for advice -- so I was thinking it was probably not too bad given the fact that he was so calm (when his fight or flight gets triggered it's a freak show).
Let me tell you, when I got a look so I could weigh in -- there was a solid line and not a dotted line like when teeth go through just a bit. I gingerly touched to see if it was deep and the second it moved I was like, okay, what's the debate?
I told her, "The good news is, you are going to get a toy out of this one, and you are going to have a really cool story to tell your friends tomorrow."
...or maybe the next day. When that Novocain wore off it wasn't pretty, but only until the advil kicked in. She is my hero -- holy crap did she take it like a champ. They didn't even have to use the clampy thing, she just held out her tongue and held my hand -- she cried, but it was that friggin brave and silent cry -- she was amazing.
Four stitch's and there was debate about one more, but it was laying together clean enough that they left that part stitch less.
I was proud of my entire family -- Frankie didn't show any panic at all and totally handled tending to her wound until we got home. Rich didn't try to "calm everyone down" in that way that's not calming at all -- he was all dad and just what she needed. And Lizzie for not throwing up or passing out and for bringing on the sister love when it counted.