Three Strikes - You're Outta Here

So, I have been considering some new rules for the Sorensen household. One of which is the three strike rule. Three incidents in 24 hours and the offender gets put up for sale. As of right now, DANE IS FOR SALE!

Strike #1 - Yesterday at church after a typical sacrament meeting with Dane he got kicked out of primary. Charges? Being disruptive and disrobing in opening exercises. No pictures.

Strike #2 - Today, while I was finishing on the elliptical I heard a rustling in the kitchen and decided I needed to check it out. Dane had pulled out the industrial sized Bisquick from Sam's Club and was eating fists full of Bisquick mix. Before you accuse me of starving a child, remember who you are talking to. A Sorensen starving? I think not!

Strike #3 - Dane has an incredibly high pain tolerance so when I heard a piercing cry from upstairs as I started dinner, I knew it wasn't good. I ran up the stairs and saw the bloody foot before I even saw his face. The dirty clothes were piled in the hall waiting their turn so I grabbed a towel, wrapped it around his foot, picked him up and ran downstairs. Reagan got my keys and grabbed the Relief Society directory out of the car and I started dialing anyone I remotely knew on the list. I had no idea where the hospitals were here and you guessed it, Erron was out of town. Nobody from the list was home so I called a couple of neighbors and they weren't home. With Reagan and Kale holding the towel on Dane's foot I quickly googled our Dr. and called hoping for at least a message about where to take emergencies. They are affiliated with Children's hospital in downtown Knoxville so I wrote down the address so I could punch it in the GPS, got the kids in the car with Reagan still holding the towel firmly against the foot. Our past experience with ER's had me thinking we might be in for the long haul so we drove to another neighbors house to see if Kale and Reagan could stay there while I was gone. Sweet Nora took them right in and fed them dinner while I was gone. I decided to go ahead and call Erron to let him know what was going on and he reminded me that there was another hospital closer--only about 7 minutes away. Eastern Baptist is now on my list of go to places in an emergency. We walked right in, there wasn't anyone else waiting and Dane was with a nurse within 10 minutes. Five minutes later the Dr. was there. He said it is almost useless to put stitches in the bottom of a little boys foot because they don't stay still and the stitches would just rip out tomorrow when Dane decided to chase the squirrel again. So the Dr. cleaned it out really good, which was quite a job because the layers of dirt on that little foot included sand from the sandbox and clay from the park, red Popsicle juice and what ever dirt comes with running around bare foot in the back yard. He then put about 5 layers of Durmabond on his foot and said our goal was to keep that on for 4-5 days. Dane was a little tough guy the whole time.

I am so grateful that he is okay. My heart was beating a little faster there for a while and I was trying so hard not to freak out in front of the older two. Erron drove home so that Dane would know that daddy cared. I thought that was sweet.