Sometimes I Think I'll Never Learn ...

Agent 96 has long done lighting for the Dever Players at his school. The performances are well worth the price of admission if you're ever inclined to see a high school performance. This weekend are the final performances of Tom Stoppard's Arcadia.

Anyway, in his haste to thwart a lighting disaster only a lighting guy (read: not I) can articulate, he runs down the stairs in Bulger to the stage. Let's just say he took a shortcut from the bottom step to the stage and faceplanted on the front edge of said stage. This happened at 4pm or so and the school nurses were already gone for the weekend, so he shook it off and continued with his job and the show went off without a hitch.

I got the anticipated call at 9:30 that he and another tech kid who lives nearby were ready to be picked up, so I grabbed a jacket to throw over my pajamas (technically, Tom's paint-stained T-shirt and ratty sweatpants but let's not quibble), got in the car, and met the boys at the designated spot. He and his companion talk about the day, and tell me about the show, and, "Oh yeah, I fell."


"What do you mean, you fell?"

"I fell. I bumped my head and my knee, and my thumb hurts."

"You bumped your head? Did you tell a teacher? Why didn't you call me? Blah, blah, blah."

While I was driving I made him turn the dome light on to show me the bump on his head, and holy heck, he shows me the biggest lump I've ever seen in my life. And I'm old. And clumsy. Let's just say I've seen a lump or two in my day.  It was so big it literally cast a shadow on his forehead.

By now it's 10:15 and I'm at a loss as to what to do. As if I had an angel on one shoulder and a demon on the other, only in this case the characters were probably a DCS worker and me and the conversation went something like this: He's had a bump to to the head. He should probably see a doctor.  ... But I'm in my pajamas ...  He's had no problem in the 7-plus hours since he fell ... Do you not see the Mt. Everest growing on your son's forehead?

 I proclaim the bump to be at least urgent-care-worthy (96 disagreed but humored me), get the friend home, and get 96 to urgent care at MIT before it closes for the night. Dr. Mudrock (my new favorite name) thinks the bump is ER-worthy and sends us along to Mt. Auburn Hospital. By the time Mt. Auburn is done with us, having pronounced 96's bump not-CAT-scan-worthy, we're home a little after 1am. I am conveniently already in my pajamas, of course, so at least there's that.

 I was not happy when Zoet, having slept through and therefore not fully appreciating the excitement of the previous night, expected her business to be business as usual at 6am Saturday. Gah.

So, the play's final performance is tonight, Saturday, and the plan is to drop 96 back off at school at 2pm to prepare. So I grab a jacket to throw over ... Tom's tshirt and sweatpants. Yup. From last night. Last night, as in, that time I swore I'd never leave the house again in pj's. I drove like I had a driving instructor in the seat next to me. And at least this time I had brushed my teeth.