Life is funny...
In my line of volunteer work with the American Red Cross, I can handle pretty much any major disaster...I've responded to devastating house fires, wildfires, hurricanes, tornadoes, and floods.
I keep a cool head and can quickly assess the situation, and respond quickly with whatever is needed. Without even breaking a sweat.
I am Grace. Under. Pressure.
I am STEEL.
However...when it comes to disasters involving my own family, I can only be described as...a wreck.
A jelly-filled donut with a cream-filled brain with spaghetti arms and legs.
Case in point - today.
Around 2:15 this afternoon, the phone rings - and caller ID tells me that it's the school nurse calling.
Which is never a good thing, when you're a mom. Or a dad, for that matter...when the school nurse is calling.
It can only be bad news - because no school nurse I've ever known has called up out of the blue just to wish someone a nice Monday afternoon.
Bracing myself, I answer the phone and hear, "Your daughter fell - she's busted out some teeth and her nose - and you need to come NOW."
Busted teeth? That's my worst nightmare. Seriously. I think I can slightly handle blood better than busted teeth - and I don't handle blood all that well, trust me. But teeth?? Shudder.
So, I hop in the car, and as I'm driving to school, I make three phone calls:
The FIRST call is to the dentist, to see if I can get my daughter in. Immediately. They are fantastic - and tell me they'll have a room waiting.
The second call is to Hubby - and as his office is about 50 miles away, I tell him that he doesn't need to leave the office, but to keep his cell phone handy and I will keep him assessed of the situation.
The third call was to my Mommy. Yup - even at (almost) 50 years old, I need my Mommy in this situation - to give me a pep talk and to tell me that it's going to be okay. My mom is great - she tells me to take some deep breaths, be strong for my daughter, and to call her when I know something.
I arrive at the school, and the teeth are worse than I could have imagined. Both permanent front teeth have jagged edges - but I manage to smile, make a joke, and bundle up Daughter to get her to the dentist.
Along the way, she's got an ice pack on her face, and between her tears, I can tell she's curious as to what she looks like.
"No - I'm not letting you see your teeth until we talk to the dentist and you're assured that its going to be fine," I tell her.
Fifteen minutes later, we're at the dentist - and Dr. Molly spent the next 90 minutes doing the most AMAZING job I've ever seen in restoring Daughter's teeth. They're not permanent - but they're pretty darn good for the time being - and we never, ever ONCE let Daughter get a glimpse of the carnage in her mouth.
What would be the point in THAT? None.
At one point, the dentist says, "Mom - you're looking pretty pale there...are you going to be okay?"
Between broken, bloody, jagged teeth, needles and drills...I WAS about ready to topple over in a faint, when my dear, dear Hubby walked in the door.
My hero. He knew I needed his support - and there he was. He knew not to listen to me, and he drove all the way across town to be with his girls when we needed him the most.
Later, when we arrived home, I went into my closet, sat down, and just shook for about 10 minutes. Bleh. Spaghetti arms and legs...that's me, all right.
Daughter's resting tonight. We still have to address the probable-broken nose, and we'll be getting permanent crowns in the teeth once the pain/bleeding/swelling subsides.
But we're good. We're in a good place.
Ironically, my Facebook status early this morning was: "The fabulous smell of spring is in the air today - and although my "to-do" list is a mile long, it's already promising to be a wonderful day!"
Humpf. A wonderful day, my ass.