closet doors. “I thought military people traveled light.” Marit dropped her bag.
“Usually the movers do all this.” Mona leaned against the wall. “I was hoping both chests of drawers would fit in the closet, but that left no room for hanging anything up. Then I could set up shelves along that wall with baskets to hold toys and such.”
“When things settle down, we can redo the closet and make it more efficient.”
“Right.”
“Come on, Mom, things won’t always be this chaotic. It wasn’t when we were kids.”
“And chaos comes and goes at your house.”
“True, but…”
“Mom!” Brit yelled from the bottom of the stairs. “Arne is bleeding.”
Marit rolled her eyes and started for the door. “How bad?”
“He skinned his knee, but the blood is running down his leg.”
“Where is he?”
“Outside.”
“He can’t walk?”
“He doesn’t think so.” Brit sounded like an exasperated big sister.
“Tell him to get in here so we can clean it up.”
She ran for the door. “Mom said to get in here right now!”
“You could have waited until you got outside,” Marit muttered as she turned toward the bathroom. While Marit got the first aid kit, Mona went on into the kitchen to see her sniffling grandson come limping in from the garage. “What happened?” She patted the stool and he climbed up. Handing him one tissue for his nose, she used another to mop up the blood trickling down into his sock. “What did you do?”
“Ambrose and me were chasing, and I fell over him on the gravel. He felt real bad. He tried licking the blood, but Brit pulled him away. He was trying to help.” He sniffed again. “It hurts, Grammy.”
“I know, and scrubbing that gravel out is going to hurt worse. But not for long. We have to get it clean. Maybe we should use a scrub brush on it.”
His eyes saucered. “Really?”
“No, silly, Grammy’s teasing.” She turned to Marit, who plunked the plastic box of first aid supplies on the counter.
“I don’t know, a brush sounds like a good idea to me.” She looked at the knee. “Let’s get you up on the counter with your leg in the sink. Maybe the running water will be enough so that we can forget the brush.”
“Mooooooom.”
Marit looked at her mother. “Are they born saying mom that way or is it learned?” Scooping up her son, she set him on the counter, his leg straightened out over the double sink.
“Got me. But all kids seem to get it.” Mona adjusted the water to cool and set it to run over his knee. “You really got a scrape all right.” She looked down to see Ambrose staring up at her, as if pleading to make everything all right. “Look, Arne, he’s so sorry.”
“I know.” He scrunched up his face. “Ow! Mom!” A tear leaked out of his clenched eyes.
“Hang in there. I need to make sure this is clean.” She turned off the water and wiped the knee off with a gauze pad. “You got a flashlight, Mom?”
Mona pulled it out of the drawer, flipping on the light over the sink at the same time. She held the beam right on his knee. “Looks good to me.”
“Bleeding like that helps.” After drying off her son’s knee, she applied salve and a big square bandage. “That’s big enough we could draw a face on it.”
“Yeah, do it.” Arne leaned forward.
Mona pulled a Sharpie out of the kitchen junk drawer and drew a smiley face on the tan plastic. “There you go.”
He swung his legs out over the edge and slid to the floor. “Come on, Ambrose.” Swiping a cookie off the tray, he grinned at his mother. “Thanks, Grammy, Mom.” Stuffing the chocolate chip cookie in his mouth so the others wouldn’t see it, he slammed out the screen door.
“Don’t slam the door.”
Arne peeked around the edge of the door he opened again. “Sorry.” This time he very carefully closed the door so it barely snicked.
Marit cleaned up the mess, all the while shaking her head. “Kids.”
If supper that night was a portent of
“Usually the movers do all this.” Mona leaned against the wall. “I was hoping both chests of drawers would fit in the closet, but that left no room for hanging anything up. Then I could set up shelves along that wall with baskets to hold toys and such.”
“When things settle down, we can redo the closet and make it more efficient.”
“Right.”
“Come on, Mom, things won’t always be this chaotic. It wasn’t when we were kids.”
“And chaos comes and goes at your house.”
“True, but…”
“Mom!” Brit yelled from the bottom of the stairs. “Arne is bleeding.”
Marit rolled her eyes and started for the door. “How bad?”
“He skinned his knee, but the blood is running down his leg.”
“Where is he?”
“Outside.”
“He can’t walk?”
“He doesn’t think so.” Brit sounded like an exasperated big sister.
“Tell him to get in here so we can clean it up.”
She ran for the door. “Mom said to get in here right now!”
“You could have waited until you got outside,” Marit muttered as she turned toward the bathroom. While Marit got the first aid kit, Mona went on into the kitchen to see her sniffling grandson come limping in from the garage. “What happened?” She patted the stool and he climbed up. Handing him one tissue for his nose, she used another to mop up the blood trickling down into his sock. “What did you do?”
“Ambrose and me were chasing, and I fell over him on the gravel. He felt real bad. He tried licking the blood, but Brit pulled him away. He was trying to help.” He sniffed again. “It hurts, Grammy.”
“I know, and scrubbing that gravel out is going to hurt worse. But not for long. We have to get it clean. Maybe we should use a scrub brush on it.”
His eyes saucered. “Really?”
“No, silly, Grammy’s teasing.” She turned to Marit, who plunked the plastic box of first aid supplies on the counter.
“I don’t know, a brush sounds like a good idea to me.” She looked at the knee. “Let’s get you up on the counter with your leg in the sink. Maybe the running water will be enough so that we can forget the brush.”
“Mooooooom.”
Marit looked at her mother. “Are they born saying mom that way or is it learned?” Scooping up her son, she set him on the counter, his leg straightened out over the double sink.
“Got me. But all kids seem to get it.” Mona adjusted the water to cool and set it to run over his knee. “You really got a scrape all right.” She looked down to see Ambrose staring up at her, as if pleading to make everything all right. “Look, Arne, he’s so sorry.”
“I know.” He scrunched up his face. “Ow! Mom!” A tear leaked out of his clenched eyes.
“Hang in there. I need to make sure this is clean.” She turned off the water and wiped the knee off with a gauze pad. “You got a flashlight, Mom?”
Mona pulled it out of the drawer, flipping on the light over the sink at the same time. She held the beam right on his knee. “Looks good to me.”
“Bleeding like that helps.” After drying off her son’s knee, she applied salve and a big square bandage. “That’s big enough we could draw a face on it.”
“Yeah, do it.” Arne leaned forward.
Mona pulled a Sharpie out of the kitchen junk drawer and drew a smiley face on the tan plastic. “There you go.”
He swung his legs out over the edge and slid to the floor. “Come on, Ambrose.” Swiping a cookie off the tray, he grinned at his mother. “Thanks, Grammy, Mom.” Stuffing the chocolate chip cookie in his mouth so the others wouldn’t see it, he slammed out the screen door.
“Don’t slam the door.”
Arne peeked around the edge of the door he opened again. “Sorry.” This time he very carefully closed the door so it barely snicked.
Marit cleaned up the mess, all the while shaking her head. “Kids.”
If supper that night was a portent of
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