Mother of mercy and pass the bacon, we have had a tough night at Casa Chaos. Big F fell off his bike and got “sidewalk rash.” I know it doesn’t have the ring of “road rash” but at least it’s accurate. Big F is rather big on literal interpretations. He doesn’t do metaphors.
Anyway, it is currently 10:38 pm. I am ready to turn out the light. In fact, I had turned out the light when I rolled over and turned it back on. This little tidbit needed to be recorded for posterity. Or hilarity. Or future embarrassment. Whatever.
So, as I mentioned, it is past 10:30 and this little accident happened around 8:00. Yes, bad mother that I am my children were still outside playing at 8:00 pm when most kids their age have been bathed and herded into bed already. My kids get to play longer because we skip that pesky soap and water ritual other people deem necessary. Remember, my mantra: stinky kids can grow up to be normal adults, too.
Well, I think we have already established that F is sort of a Drama Queen. Drama King. Drama Prince. He does not tolerate pain well at all. He likes to wallow in it. We could hear his screams minutes before he made it into the kitchen. Elbow bent at a 90 degree angle, tears pouring down his face, mouth distorted into a howling grimace.
“Yep,” my husband said calmly. “That’s a good scrape.” Ointment here. Camo bandage there. Good as new.
Not good enough for Big F. He needed more medical attention:
Ice pack…too cold! Sobs of anguish.
Washcloth…too wet! Wails of discontent.
Band-aid…too sticky! Cries of misery.
The tears have not subsided and this happened almost, oh say, three hours ago. I am not a nurse of any kind. My patience with patients lasts about three minutes.
Conversation recap from a few moments ago:
Dude, it is a scraped elbow. The harm is done. Now it just has to heal. Relax, think happy thoughts and go to sleep. It won’t hurt while you’re sleeping.
It will hurt forever.
Do you think it will hurt when you’re 12?
It will hurt forever.
Think happy thoughts. Stop looking at your elbow every five minutes. It is going to look the same–like a camo band-aid. Picture going to the beach…
Or Legoland?
Sure, or Legoland.
I can’t think; it hurts too much.
Go to sleep. It’s late and you have school tomorrow.
Five minutes later there is a knock at the bedroom door:
I can’t think any thoughts my brain is all jumbled from the pain.
Now, think of this as a fun circular word game: Who’s on First, What’s on Second, The Pain is Excruciating is on Repeat.There are about five more trips to the bedroom door in a 20 minute span.
I crumble under the pressure and from good ol’ fashioned exhaustion.
Fine. Maybe you should read or play a math game on your computer until you get tired.
Now here I am, ready to turn off the light wondering if I should go out there and make him go to bed. But I don’t want to run the risk of reminding him that he scraped his elbow three hours ago.
But, wait, it is awfully quiet. And a quick bed check confirms all three boys are sound asleep in bed.
Success is relative. I’ll take it however I can get it. Even by accident.
