I haven't reposted in a while, so here's an insight from 2008 (when Rocky was Baby, Scooby and Ace were five, Turtle was six, and Baby was just a gleam in her father's eye).
Tuesday 4th November 2008
Tonight we went to a fantastic firework display. It was up the road at Heysham Free Methodist Church (who apparently, according to the local free paper, who wrote a lovely but glaringly incorrect piece about our new church, we are a faction of) and was executed by a semi-professional pyrotechnic, so well-worth seeing. Baby, who was only ten days old last time we went to a firework party, was awed by the sight of so many pretty sparkles, owing to his obsession with overhead lights (he likes to switch them on and smile, then off and frown, on and smile, etc, and I'm just hoping it doesn't lead to some uncontrollable form of OCD when he gets older).
In addition to the display, there was hot food, a tuck shop, a drama presentation and crafts, led by a lovely lady who didn't bat an eyelid when Turtle asked if he could use the resources to make a light sabre instead of a rocket, and handed him several sparkly pipe cleaners to entwine together.
The boys filled themselves on burgers and hot chocolate and we caught up with a few old faces. It's always an interesting experience being in the Free Methodist churches, because my family have been involved in them for years, and Richard's dad was a minister at a couple of them, so lots of people know who we are even if we don't know them. I have many a lovely conversation with people whose faces I recognise but whose names are a mystery, who ask me how my grandma/dad/father-in-law/little brother is, and I have to reply in the vaguest of terms because I don't know what their relationship to the aforementioned relative is, and how much detail they really want to hear. I even met a guy who said that the last time he had seen me was when I only had two children and was pregnant with my third. I was very tempted to ask him if that meant he was one of the many midwives, student nurses or paediatricians who had entered the room in the twenty-three minutes while I had my legs in stirrups trying not to push and waiting for the mobile scanning unit to confirm whether the second twin had turned to be head down, but I restrained myself instead and told him he must be mistaken.
Anyway, after a very smooth, fun-filled night, something had to go belly-up and at the moment we were about to leave, Richard realised he couldn't find his keys. He had met us in the car park when we arrived because he'd come straight from work, and helped me to get the kids in. So we, and many willing volunteers (who were the last ones left and waiting to close up the church and go home), traced his path from the car to the church, from the church to the field where we had stood watching fireworks, back to the church, around every room in the building, and back again. The boys were very good in the meantime, even Baby who must have been wondering what happened to his bed time. The older three hovered in and out of the entrance, staying in sight, and just at the moment I turned around to tell them not to run on the patio, there was a stumble and a fall and a face hit the paving stones.
I ran to Ace as fast as I could, thinking he had grazed his palms, but no, his hands hadn't even touched the floor. Instead, he'd caught it with his head. As I rolled him over, waiting for him to let out the cry he was sucking air in for, I literally saw the bump, Wiley-Cayote-style, raise up from his head and turn greyish-blue. I picked him up and ran back in.
The crowd who were anxiously fretting over the lost keys, were now raised to a new frenzy of mild panic as we walked past people and their eyes widened in horror. The kitchen ladies produced a cold wet tea towel and an ice pack as if by magic and one rushed to get her car to take us to A&E. Everytime I peered back under the ice pack, the bump seemed to have expanded, until half his forehead was pushing out forward and his eye had changed shape a bit. Thankfully, Richard reappeared with the lost keys, and was able to take Ace to casualty in the van, while I took care of the other three, leaving the concerned onlookers free to go home and be contacted a couple of hours later to be told he was given the all clear by the doctor and sent home again.
In fact, when he got home later, he was able to give me a clear description of what the doctor said ('Oh dear, what a big bump!') and of the different toys he played with in the waiting room. His only concern was when I showed him his head in the mirror and he held his finger to the bump and said 'Mummy, I want it bigger and bigger and bigger!' I think he watches too much Tom and Jerry.
Oh, and the location of Richard's keys? Well, it would be far too embarrassing for him if I told you that after a twenty minute search, he suddenly remembered that when he had helped get the children out of the car at the beginning of the night, he had swapped his jacket, so I won't say a word.