When we grow up...

So let's talk about when boys grow up...do they?...I am married to one, and I would like to know when I can expect that to happen. No, really, I am married to a very amazing man, who is usually quite mature and mostly rational...except tonight. We were mapping out our plans for the weekend (I run on a tight schedule now, I hate it, but that's life) and we got to Sunday. That should be pretty easy right? Go to church, come home and eat, make the journey back to Brigham City. Nope. Not quite. In order to understand what happened next you have to know what happened when we lived in LaSal, and then when we went home to visit last summer. Not everyone loves us. I know, it's hard to believe, but it's true. Specifically many people have problems with Ethan, and his behavior, and the fact that we would adopt a child who has problems, and bring him into the perfect little community to ruin everyone's life. Really, I'm not kidding. I don't understand it because, I love my family, and while it might not be the traditional family, it is a pretty good one, and it is that way because God said it should be, and who is anyone else to think that they know better than God? But anyway, that was another big reason we had for moving, and we have been very pleased with the way we have been recieved by the people here. (Maybe that is because we haven't told very many people our whole story, and -shocker- they haven't noticed too much difference) This summer we had a really unkind and hurtful thing happen at church when we were home for a visit, and while I thought we had mostly moved on, apparently not all of us have. (I also want to take a moment to mention that most people were kind, and we loved living in LaSal. There are very good people there, and living there served a great purpose in our life. I don't want to take anything away from that. There were just a few who wanted to take the focus off of thier crummy situations, and thought that making fun of a handicapped kid would help. Sorry about the rant, maybe I'm not as "Moved on" as I would like to believe I am either.)As we were talking about going to church and who would go to what class with which child, Troy became very upset by remembering some of the things that were said to us, particularly by one person who was the cause of our upset this summer. The more he thought about it, the more angry he became, and then I suggested that we talk about ways to move on. Bad idea, I should have suggested we talk about sweet baby kittens or cotton candy or something, because the more I tried to calm him down, the more things he found to be angry about. It just built up more and more until finally he snapped. My kind and gentle husband, who normally doesn't have a violent bone in his body walked over to the basement wall, and punched it! WHAT IN THE...!?! I know! I just sat there in shock not quite knowing what happened. He just stood there really still for a while, and then calmly turned around and whispered quietly..."I think I just hit a stud" and he did. Out of any place on the entire wall he could have hit, my sweety picked the spot that had a stud behind it. It barely made a dent in the wall, and while I will never admit this to him, I was a little bit happy inside because at least he didn't make a hole in our family room that I would have to patch up. But then I looked at his hand. In just a matter of seconds it had swollen up, and was continuing to grow in front of our very eyes. My first thought..."Cool where's the video camera!?" (I'm sick I tell you, Sick) Luckily, I have worked many years at thinking before I speak, and every so often I actually do it, and this was one of those times. So I asked if he could move it...nope he couldn't wiggle his fingers at all. He had a giant bump sticking out of his hand, and I mentioned that I thought it might be broken. He agreed, and I suggested that we put some ice on it and take him to the hospital. He agreed to that too. But then I remembered that both kids were asleep and it was 11:00 at night, and I didn't want to wake them up because they never sleep at the same time. Plus we live about two blocks from the hospital, and it's not like he broke his foot or something that he needed to drive with, and there was no blood... (PLUS it was his own stinkin' fault for hitting the wall like some crazy teen-ager, but I totally didn't say that out loud.) He wasn't happy about it, but he finally started to see things from my point of view and agreed to go by himself. I got him all ready to go, and then I couldn't take it any more. I had reached my think-before-you-speak limit for the night, and I HAD to ask if I could take a picture of it. It really did look cool, and I had visions in my mind of blowing the photo up and hanging it on the wall just above the faint print of his fist. It could serve as a reminder to keep emotions in check. It seemed like a great idea to me. He told me I could NOT take a picture, and then he said I was being immature. Really, the guy who just punched a wall because someone called his family a mean name, called ME immature. REALLY?!? What a crazy wackadoo! What a crazy night! Anyway, he is at the hospital now waiting for the x-rays to come back, and I am marveling at the strange events of the night (And also making plans of how if it is broken we can get the x-ray, and the cast and make a little shadow box for them to hang above the fist print...) I will keep you posted-on the hand, and also on how things go at church. It could prove to be a lively Sabbath day-we may decide to play hooky. Time will tell.