Pile of Kisses

I got my first concussion Tuesday night.

Not even a cool story. I wasn't drinking tequila. I wasn't break dancing. I wasn't snowboarding.

Nothing cool.

I was momming.

In the bathroom.

Yeah. So, after rinsing out a little boy's poop potty in the bathtub, I reached over to set it back in its Paw Patrol holder. I must have taken a step forward to do so because, on my spring back to change the faucet to shower mode, I CRACKED my forehead on the wall that divides the tub and toilet.

I saw a bright flash of light, heard my teeth gnash and bounced backwards.

Well, that was a shocker!

I grabbed my head and wailed a bit as I hung over the side of the bathtub. Brady P looked at me timidly. I don't think he saw exactly what happened as he was preoccupied with his animals (go figure).

I opened my eyes, and... and... I opened my eyes! I was conscious! Oh, happy day! My daylights were still burning!

I was immediately filled with gratitude. As I heard (and felt) my head smack a fortified tile wall, I thought for sure I should be a heap on the bathroom floor, leaving Brady P to wonder why he couldn't wake Mama up by shouting "Boo!"

He would have been on his own. And nobody would have known. (Side note: I am now prompted to teach him how and when to call 911 once I can do something productive again.)

I was quite euphoric about the fact that I was conscious. I rejoiced while I iced the lump on my head. I rejoiced while I rubbed Frankincense oil into my inflaming flesh. I rejoiced!

Then my mom called. 

I told her what happened. She is a nurse, and she is keen to these things, so she said, "Amanda, you might have a concussion."

I thought about that for a moment. I just re-certified my First Aid/CPR training, and I had the signs and symptoms for a concussion mostly memorized. But now I was embodying them.

"I guess that's why people don't diagnose their own concussion," I joked. "Yeah, coach. I'm fine! Put me back out there! Haha!"

But Mama Wais wasn't really laughing. She was becoming a bit concerned. We decided it was pretty mild, so she gave me a list of things to do and don't and wanted me to check back with her later.

Brady P kissed my bump as gently as he could. 

We made it though the night, and I managed to get him up and ready for school on time the next day.

The day was really rough. I felt like I got shot with a tranquilizer dart. I moved like a sloth. I talked in slow motion.

But I was alive!

Miss Liz dropped B off after school (That angel woman. I was not driving anywhere!).

After she left, I went over to snuggle by him on his little trampoline. He looked flattered.

"Mummy, let's take a rest together," he said, holding my neck.

In a moment, he got up. I stayed resting because that is what I did best that day.

"Here, Mummy! Here!" he was prodding.

I looked up, and he handed me my water glass. "Have a drink!" I was so flattered that I drank it all. "Oh! Good job!"

He took my cup away and brought my tea. "And here is your coffee," he said.

"Thank you, Brady!" I said. I took a little sip and set the cup down.

He was off to the next thing... and then back with his Guess Who card people.

I half-watched him as he took off the clip. I was still horizontal on the trampoline.

Then I felt a little card on my cheek. 

"This is Eric," he said.

"Did Eric just give me a kiss on my cheek?" I asked. 

"Mmm-hmm!" he confirmed.

"Thanks, Eric." I said, closing my eyes again.

Then I felt another card on my cheek. He told me who it was, and I thanked them for the kiss.

Well, that little boy when through the whole deck and had each one of our card friends kiss me on the cheek. Then he did the same thing with his own sweet little lips.

"I love you, Mummy."

My smooch pile

Seriously. What a little lover. This boy has so much love to share. I am extremely blessed to be a daily recipient of it. It will definitely help my head heal.

One day at a time. I am still alive... and loved.

Birds of a Feather

Brady P. kind of has a new pet.

It's really Craig's pet, but the pet gets to stay here a lot.  We like him.

His name is Kirby.  Kirbeeeeeeey Puckett, is what we call him, and he even says his name like that!  The Minnesota Twins would be proud.

Kirby is a parrotlet.  He is three month old.  A tiny bird with a big personality.

Why am I telling you about this bird?

Because the way that Brady P. Kirby have evolved together is quite beautiful.

At first, Braeden was very skittish around the bird.  It would land on his head, and he would slap around with his hands and shout, "Ahhh!"

Also, Kirby was not going to trust the little chubby-fingered boy who kept poking at him through his cage.

Craig and I knew there was a lot of work to be done if those two were going to get along.

That first picture depicts the first time Braeden successfully said, "Step up!" to Kirby, and Kirby, dutifully, yet cautiously stepped onto his finger... crawled up his arm and rested on his shoulder.

We were so proud!

Success!!!

After that, things got easier.  Although B will go up to his cage and let the bird out without us knowing, he is more gentle.  He reacts more with one finger out to say "step up" in stead of swatting the bird in a panic.

They are actually quite cute together.  

And P. Pie loves to see the bird right when he walks in the door from school or wherever.

See?  Still dressed from the outside.

He can't wait to say, "Oh, Kirby is here!  Hi Kirby!"

I can't say that our guards go completely down when those two are together now, but we are definitely proud of the strides both of them have made with their trust in each other.

Cuz really, it takes two to trust.  And form a friendship.  Hopefully their friendship will last for years.