A Flash From The Pony's Cocooning Past

With The Pony taking a day off to commemorate his unfortunate ankle-breaking, a comment by Blog Buddy River reminded me of a previous time when The Pony cocooned himself. I'm sure I've told this story before over my past 17 years of blogging, but I don't think anybody is going to peruse 6,205 posts on my Hillbilly Mansions alone to find it.

I'm pretty sure it was a during those weeks when summer vacation has grown old, and the young 'uns are fidgeting for something to do. It couldn't have been a mere weekend during the school year, because I never had time to myself then.

Anyhoo... I was in my dark basement lair, tapping away at whatever pre-New-Delly computer I had back then. The boys were upstairs. I'm guessing that Genius was around 8, and The Pony around 5. Just old enough that they could be left in another room to play with their toys or watch cartoons, and not drink bleach under the sink or draw on the walls with a Sharpie.

I could hear them above me, thumping and chattering, so I knew they were both still alive. Then it got quiet. DANGER SIGN! 

Genius came galloping down the steps.

"Mom? I think maybe The Pony hurt himself."

"WHAT? How's that? Where is he?"

I was already on my way, being a bit more sprightly back then.

"He's in his room and he won't talk to me."

"What did you DO?"

"Nothing. I didn't do anything. We were just playing, and he ran in there."

 

The Pony was in his little car bed, rolled up in his Scooby Doo sleeping bag. Not merely in a sleeping bag as if to sleep, but rolled up in it. No part of his body showing. No amount of coaxing could get him to speak. I had to unroll that sleeping bag until I got to Pony. Still no response, but he was moving and not unconscious. Just trying to bury his face.

"WAIT! Where is this blood coming from?"

"Blood?"

"Yes, Genius. Blood. Look! It's all over the sleeping bag!"

That got The Pony's attention. He started squalling like a baby. Closer inspection revealed a cut on the back of his head.

[First of all, let's just establish that The Pony had a head for banging. You know, like reporters have a nose for news, and stock brokers have a head for business, and Melanie Griffith in Working Girl had a head for business, and a bod for sin.(32 seconds) The Pony's noggin had a magnetic attraction to doorknobs, table corners, the wooden trim on the end of the couch, the stick-out peninsula of the kitchen counter, random elbows, and car windows on bumpy roads.]

The Pony would not tell what happened. That's been a pattern his whole life. The Pony is a clammer-upper. No injury shall pass through his lips. The Daycare Lady had an interesting four years trying to get to the bottom of The Pony's occasional scrapes and bumps and bruises. His 1st grade teacher could never figure out how he almost broke his finger just before bus time. It was years later when The Pony let it slip that the girl in front of him slammed her chair back in a rush, and pinned his finger between the hard plastic chair-back and his desk.

Anyhoo... I had to turn my inquisition to Genius. Who was less than cooperative. He, like Shultz on Hogan's Heroes, knew NOTHING! (3 seconds)

"You realize, that if I have to take him to the hospital for stitches, they're going to ask what happened, because it's required in case of child abuse! So it's possible they could try to take him away!"

"I don't know Mom. Really. We were just playing, and he ran off."

"Playing what?"

"With the belt from his robe."

They both had little red terry-cloth robes to put on after a bath. I'd seen them in a catalog, so cute, with the option for initials, and couldn't resist.

"Doing WHAT with his belt? Did you take it?"

"We were playing. Tug of war."

"Sure you were. You took his belt! How did he hurt his head with a belt?"

"Well. I was standing on the couch, and he was on the floor by the stairs. He kept yelling 'Give me my belt!' So I did, Mom. I just did what he wanted. I gave him his belt."

"You mean you let go! While you were standing up on the couch! What did he hit?"

"I think maybe he stumbled and hit his head on the corner of the stair rail..."

"Yeah. When you let go!"

That newel post has a ball on top, but it's perched on a cube of wood. A cube that has corners. A quick wash in the sink showed that the cut was not more than an inch. It didn't show bone or gray matter. So I put pressure on it, and saw a knot form, and figured The Pony probably wasn't going to fall comatose from swelling in his brain. We avoided the ER. Genius got a stern talking-to.

I'm surprised The Pony managed to reveal how he hurt his ankle at work, when the neighbor Nurse Practitioner came to his aid.