Call 911!

Well, more like 211, but you'd have thought 911 from the scream. We were playing trampoline basketball, and a miss ricocheted off of Soleil's forehead. That was nearly the emergency, but Soleil, much to her chagrin, was quickly trumped by Jesse.  He and I had both bounded off the tramp in a race to get the errant rebound.  I cleared the edge of the tramp fine.  Jesse didn't.  His toe caught something, I am thinking possibly one of the springs, and tore his toe open a little.  He immediately gave up the chase to the ball and went down, letting out a loud scream in the process.  I make a little light, but to be fair, while the injury was nowhere near life-threatening, it had to have hurt pretty bad.  I carried him into the house and laid him on the couch as Ang began working on it. She got it all cleaned up and slowly the screaming and crying subsided.  It nearly started up again when he learned that we were going to put a bandaid on it, however.  He's the only kid I've ever seen who doesn't like bandaids, and when I say that I mean it.  He'd rather be subjected to a tourniquet than a bandaid.  I really don't know why.

After he was all squared away, he quickly began to milk the injury for all it was worth.  Ang offered to fix him a little snack which he quickly worked into a meal on the tray in bed.  Once he was settled with his food, he asked me to read to him from "that book called 'how to kill something.'"  The book in question is actually the southern classic, "To Kill a Mockingbird," and much to his disappointment, despite it being a great book, it actually has nothing to do with killing anything.  So, Ang played doctor and chef, I read, he ate, and Soleil and Rhett did what they could to make him feel better. All in all, a win-win for Jesse.