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February 2, 2010

>I’m sitting here at my desk, in an office down the hall from the school office where Scooby attends. I can hear what’s going on up there, and usually tune it out, unless of course it is the uniquely distinct (at least to me) sound of my baby, bawling.

It was all I could do not to jump up and gallop down the hall like a crazy person.
My immediate thought was “Oh no! He’s broken his arm again!”

Because that would just be such irony. It is only now the 2nd of February, the second day off of his orthopedic-restraining order (no running, no throwing, no climbing, no bike-riding, no having any kind of 6-year-old boy outdoor fun whatsoever.)

I instead restrained myself, and stood shamelessly eavesdropping at the doorway while he related a ball-hit-me-in-the-face incident to the school secretary. He explained that he could only stop crying if he got a hug. She gladly complied, he went on his merry way, the sun came out again, and all is well with the world.

And then there’s me, sitting back here on my little adrenaline rush. Hopefully my hands will stop shaking soon. Excuse me while I go try to find some chocolate. Paralyzing fear, dementors – it’s pretty much a cure-all, isn’t it?

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