Archives for January 2013

Another W.H.A.L.E

At the local children’s hospital, they have a huge section called W.H.A.L.E.  ( We Had A Little Emergency).  We have been there more times than I like to admit, but I know where all the best parking places are.

Yesterday, dear Lucas, it seems that you were standing on a chair at daycare, fell off, and split your chin.  Daycare called Mom, but many of the staff there are not the best English speakers, so mom had a hard time ascertaining what really happened or how bad it was.  Mostly, she got that it was bleeding a lot.

When she came to get you, she asked if you were standing on a chair (a no-no), but you put your hand over mom’s mouth.  It’s not clear if you were embarrassed, ashamed, guilty, or if you just didn’t want to hear it.

It was not until after diner, when you got a bath, that you actually let us take the band-aid off to see the cut.  I knew right away that you would need a stitch or two.  So that’s how we ended up at the ER again.

Today, I was talking to one of my coworkers about it, and I said that I don’t think this will be the last time we see the ER.  He said “I hope not,” and I was confused.  He said that as a young male, there is a great deal of fun and learning to be had by living on the edge and tearing things up a bit.  Maybe.   But as a mom, I don’t want you to tear YOURSELF up too badly.

However, I do know that both my brother and I did much the same thing in our youth.  In fact, he has three separate spots on his forehead where he got stitches. I once told him that they we’re lobotomy scars.   He went crying to mom that I said he had a “botomy,” to which mom said “oh for goodness sakes, you did not!  Go tell her that she was adopted.”

So he comes back to me all gleeful and says that I was “dopted.”

Hmmm, I replied.   That would explain a lot.

The Claw

In the center of our house, we have a sunken atrium that extends up to a skylight. We have a plant and dirt in the bottom, and it is surrounded with a railing. Occasionally, one of you will lose a toy down there, and we just leave it there for a while, so as to discourage you from putting things there on purpose.  We sometimes call it the pit of despair, since that is what you demonstrate when you cannot have your toy.

Getting the toys out happens in one of two ways. The first is that we can go in there through the laundry room, but it gets dirt on our shoes.  Mom will do this maybe once a week.  The other, is that I will have one of you lay face down, and I will pick you up by your ankles to lower you down into the pit, whereupon you have to grasp your toy while I hoist you back out again and gently place you back on the floor.

Mom seems to think that this behavior is counter productive and will only encourage more to go into the pit.  She may be right, and I too only do this about once a week. However, when I proposed a much grander, self-service apparatus that would be suspended from the ceiling and quickly lower and raise you back out like “the claw” arcade game, mom put a quick end to my fanciful thinking.  I think I may have been as disappointed as you were.

So you’ll just have to be more careful with your toys.  At least for now.