a head wound, a domestic disturbance and infernal itching

No, these things are not really connected. Maybe someday I'll write a story in which they are.

The head wound is actually part of the continuing (even though I said it was over) saga of Bossy Grandma. She struck again.

I met up with Min Jeong, my Korean mommy friend, at the playground one evening. I was sitting on a bench, feeding Liam a snack -- and therefore captive -- when Bossy Grandma sat down beside me. She had the nerve (THE NERVE!) to touch my belly and start telling me AGAIN that Liam is too young for me to be having another baby. She used her concerned face and everything. In English, I told her, "Yes, you've already told me that. And it's none of your business." I tried to ignore her after that, although the kids who were watching Liam eat his fruit leather kept translating for her.

Perhaps 10 or 15 minutes later, Liam started one of his favorite pastimes: jumping off a bench. His friend Jun Min quickly followed, and so did Little Chunk (grandson of Bossy). Liam probably made a dozen successful, unassisted jumps before his foot caught and he went down headfirst onto the gravelly sand. Of course, Bossy Grandma jumped on him before I could take the two steps between us. I had to practically push her off my child so that I could comfort him. I was cuddling him and heading for the nearest empty bench to assess the damage when Bossy Grandma started talking to me. Of course, I ignored her, but then one of the kids started saying "pee, pee," which means "rain" or "blood" in Korean, and pointing to Liam's head. At that point, I pulled him off my shoulder and looked at his head. Sure enough, there was a patch of bright red blood in his white-blond hair. I quickly said goodbye to Min Jeong, grabbed my bag, and headed up to the apartment with Liam, shooing away the future ambulance-chasers who tried to get a good look at Liam's head.

The conclusion of this story is that once I cleaned the blood up, the wound obviously wasn't very serious. We ran into Matthew's pediatrician friend the next day, who said it was just a "surface abrasion." He has a little scab that his hair mostly hides. I haven't run into Bossy Grandma since then, but I'm sure when I do, I'll get an earful about my poor child and why I shouldn't let him jump off benches. Oy vey.

The domestic disturbance occurred last night. Liam went to bed early and I was checking e-mail and otherwise wasting time, when I heard a man's angry voice. After a few minutes, a woman started yelling back. I realized it was our next door neighbors. The windows to the hallway were open, so I could hear (but not understand) every word they were saying. I wasn't trying to understand. Then their son (about three or four years old), started crying. I shut the windows. I find this incident worth writing about not because it's that unusual. The same thing could happen in any apartment complex in the U.S. But I didn't know what to do. In the U.S., I would either stick my head out the door and ask if everything is okay, or call the police, depending on the severity of the argument. Other than the raised voices and tone, I don't know how serious it was. I could ask if she's okay, but would I understand her reply? Is that socially acceptable here? I could call the police, but what would I say? Matthew took some fresh-baked cinnamon rolls over this evening and said the mom and son were home and seemed fine. (Hopefully they split the third cinnamon roll before the husband came home!)

And, finally, the infernal itching. Liam and I have about a brazillion mosquito bites each, including on our faces. They don't seem to bother Matthew much. He is either not as sweet as we are (very possible), doesn't visit the playground as often (but I'm positive we get most of the bites while we're sleeping) or drinks enough alcohol to keep them at bay. ("Move on! This one ain't tasty!") I cannot wait for a nice dry autumn. Death to all mosquitoes!

Photo documentation of my poor little man's bites:



And thus ends my whining. Until next time.