London Bridge is Falling Down

First things first ...

Our excitement over the weekend was -- grandparents, don't panic, everyone is fine -- Allie's trip to the Emergency Room.

We had a restaurant gift card stuck to the refrigerator, teasing and taunting us, so Saturday night we packed up the kids and headed to Scottsdale for dinner at Maggiano's. We had a great evening, which for us means the kids were well-behaved. No slinging meatballs or forks at each other. No simmering pre-pubescent attitude. No pre-school outbursts. No wine spills. And all four kids LOVED their dinner -- a rare feat.

So driving home Zach and Allie, still on their pizza bread and pasta high, start belting out "London Bridge is Falling Down."

Part way through the song they decide to hold hands as they sat side-by-side in their vehicle booster seats.

"London Bridge is falling down, falling down, falling down."

Hands latched, the arms start swinging.

"London Bridge is falling down, my fair lady."

Squeals and giggles burst forth as the arm-swinging develops a little more motion.

"Take a key and lock her up," Zach is really getting into it now as his voice overpowers Allie's and he starts to add a bit of pull to his arm swing, which I notice as I turn back to steal a glance of this sweet moment.

"Lock her up, lock her up."

And then this is about where the singing stops and the blood-curdling screaming starts.

"My arm HURRRRTS," Allie bellows.

She is crying and screaming and has that puckered-up wounded face, which I seldom see on her. Like most moms, I've learned to distinguish cries. This wasn't a trying-to-get-attention cry, or a I'm-mad-at-my-brother cry, or this-hurts-a-little-bit cry. This was one of those rare I'm-in-major-pain cries.

We ask Allie to lift her hand.

"I can't move, move, move my arm." Allie stutters and sobs.

"OK, sweetie, try to squeeze my finger," I try.

Next comes a blood-curdling cry.

"It HURTS."

Brett and I look at each other. The last time we had to send a child to the emergency room was when Nick was a year old and broke his leg (another story for another time). I was there with him on a Friday night, just a few days before Christmas, for 8 hours.

Meanwhile, when we got home it didn't get any better. We gave her some Tylenol and an ice pack. Nope. More screams and cries.

Then Brett and Allie headed to the emergency room. As the boys and I sat and watched the Arizona Cardinals demolish the Panthers, I asked a forlorn Zach (he hates to see Allie in any discomfort; he really just got carried away) to show me how he grabbed Allie's hand. Demonstrating with my hand, he said that he grabbed her wrist with both of his hands and PULLED. Hmmm.

Miraculously, or maybe that's just how it is here, who knows, they got in within an hour.

We called and Allie seemed to be in much better spirits. She wanted to talk to me and Zach on the phone.

They talked and laughed. Zach was really busting a gut, it was just too cute. They were chit-chatting away then Brett gets on the phone, laughs, and tells me Allie was holding the phone with her "injured" hand.

And sure enough, the x-ray confirmed that all was well.