3 posts tagged “mothering”
I went out with a friend and her kids last week. The last day of preschool. Yay! Let's go swimming! We took our kids to the quarry and set ourselves down for a nice long day in the hot sunshine. I got out my brand new bottle of SPF 30 sunscreen. You know the kind -- the new "continuous spray" kind. Yeah. Looks cool, huh?!
Mmmm hmmm. DON'T BUY THIS! I saw it at the drugstore and thought "wow, hey great, a sunscreen I can put on my back and not have to worry about someone helping me!" Well, sure. In theory. In the actual world, apparently even a teeny tiny breeze can send that "continuous spray" spraying everywhere EXCEPT on your skin. But I didn't know that. I didn't realize that fact until too late.
When I got home, my back was a mess. I don't remember the last time I had a burn this bad. It is the kind of burn that you show people, and they suck in their breath involuntarily, and then apologize for having reminded you of how bad a burn it is. Here is a picture of my back taken three days after I burned it:
Okay, I am looking at that photo, and it doesn't look all that bad. But it was. Really! And how about those fabulous quarter size white dots? Cool, huh?! I guess that the continuous spray managed to touch down in certain concentrated areas. Nice.
Well, the worst part of this whole ordeal was when I wanted to put some aloe gel on my back. And Kevin was already at work. But my back was KILLING me! So I asked Maggie to please please please help me. Here is how the exchange went:
Me: Honey, can you put some medicine on Mommy's back, please?
Maggie: Okay.
Me: Alright, here is the gel (squeezing the blue, gooey mentholated aloe gel into her little hands) Now just put it on my back and rub it around...
Maggie: Mommy, I don't like it. I don't want to.
Me: Please honey. Just blop it right on the red parts. (she does -- right on the shoulder blades where I could never in a million years reach by myself) Good Sweetie, now rub it around.
Maggie: No. Mommy. NO.
Me: ( feeling the aloe sitting there in huge sticky piles) Please sweetie? I can't reach it.
Maggie: (starting to cry) Mommy, I don't want to!
Me: (getting frustrated and also feeling helpless) Maggie, please. I will let you watch Dora the Explorer!
Maggie: (crying in earnest now) Nooooooo!
And then, when I turned to look at her, I saw that she had tears streaming down her face and her hand over her mouth and she was gagging! She was so grossed out, she was going to vomit on my back! OH MY GOD!!!! What kind of a monster am I?! I was reminded of that scene in Pet Semetary, where the creepy woman with the Spinal Menengitis makes her sister touch her back. And she is haunted by it her whole life. Zelda!
Holy crap. I have scarred my child. This will amount to YEARS of future therapy. Damn. I would like the therapist to know, that I STILL let her watch her Dora the Explorer video. Even though she didn't hold up her end of the bargain. That should count for something.
It was my fault. I was the one last Saturday who carelessly left the 10 pound wooden shelves lying around, leaning against a chair where anyone could run into them and send them smashing to the ground. And, well, you have probably already guessed who the unlucky person was whose toe was smashed by those same shelves. Yeah, uh huh -- my poor little 3 year old girl child. That's who. Oooops. Crap.
Within two seconds the toenail on her left big toe was bright blue. I am not kidding. It was that immediate. And so were her screams. Gulp. The screaming went on forever. Until I finally had the bright idea to let her watch a video. The video? Works. EVERY. Time. She stopped crying and just went into little whimpering sobs every few minutes. Very pitiful. But I didn't take her to the doctor. Who knew? Did you know that if you have a black and blue finger or toenail you can go to the Doctor within 24 hours and have a hole poked in it with a burning hot needle (yow!) and that will drain off the pus and relieve the pressure? I know, I know, that SOUNDS horrifying. But believe me...after the pain she was in for the next few days, I was sure wishing I had known that.
By Monday, she was a mess. She had been waking up crying through the night on Saturday and Sunday night. She was on a steady diet of Motrin and tears (oh, and videos, don't forget those...). I felt AWFUL. So before taking her to school on Monday morning, I called the doctor's office and made an appointment for her that afternoon.
When I picked her up from school, she was limping around, and the teacher was like, "Oh, by the way, we were making paint footprints today for our art project" What are the odds? How often do kids paint with their feet at school, and on the day my kid has a busted foot, they do that project?! Whatever.
Anyway, so, I took Maggie to see her pediatrician and waited for a freakin' HOUR in the waiting room. And when she finally got in to the room, the pediatrician informed me that since it was 48 hours after the injury, all of the blood was probably coagulated and it wouldn't do any good. But she would try...
So she took off Maggie's sock, and almost fainted. "How long has it been since the injury?!" she asked. "Her foot is green!" Oh Good God. Like I would let her get gangrene! Please. But I looked at it, and, well, it DID look pretty bad. I explained the whole foot painting thing at school, and she breathed a sigh of relief. Okay.
Then came the toenail stabbing with a sharp pin. Let me just sum it up by saying one word -- AWFUL. Plus? It did nothing. Except make Maggie scream like her head was on fire. And I don't know about your pediatrician's office, but mine doesn't have videos. So we were out of luck in that department. Luckily I had brought along ALOT of left-over Easter candy.
After the terrible, terrible stabbing, came the declaration that we needed to go get an x-ray. Just to make sure it wasn't broken. Apparently? A broken toe on a child's foot is bad. Very bad. Like, they might not walk right ever again. Nice.
I am not going to write all about the whole x-ray experience except to say that it involved ANOTHER waiting room and several botched attempts at trying to get a picture of a rather tiny toe.
Of course, then we had to go BACK to the pediatrician's waiting room and wait AGAIN to go in to see our pediatrician so she could tell us the results. Four hours after stepping into the doctor's office we learned -- hooray -- Maggie does not have a broken toe. Her toe nail will probably fall off in a few weeks and we will have to dose her up on Motrin for another week. But her toe will recover.
What I am worried about now are her teeth. I shoved so many marshmallow peeps and jelly beans in her mouth that afternoon to keep her quiet, that it will be a miracle if her teeth don't rot out of her head.
I am a little concerned about my tendencies toward becoming a freaky stage parent. A parent like Brooke Shield's mom. Or maybe Macaulay Culkin's creepy dad. What about Jessica Simpson's whacked out father or Drew Barrymore's druggie mom? Oh my God. But sometimes Maggie just loves to perform. Really. Swear to God. I don't force her. Ask anybody. And it cracks me up to watch her. And so I prompt her to perform for others. I can't help it.
Last year I got a new camera/video camera and so it was easy to film her whenever she did something that made me laugh. Here she is, tottering around in her high heeled shoes and her fancy dress, singing her favorite song at the time, the ABCs:
Soon after, we got the Annie movie and the Annie soundtrack to go with it. And man, that girl loved it! She especially liked the sad songs -- Maybe and Tomorrow (when sung in the minor key). She would belt those out like nobody's business. So I decided to video that, too. But this second video, taken a few months after the first one, is mildly embarrassing. And I am not saying that Maggie is the one who should be embarrassed. No. I am the one who cringes when watching it. Because if you listen carefully, you can hear me singing the words under my breath. Prompting her. And directing her to take a "big bow" when obviously, she does not care to do so. Ahem.
I am a little frightened by this tendency of mine. Where did it come from? I am not a performing type person. Does this just happen when one becomes a mother? Is there any way to avoid it? Will Maggie end up in a "Little Miss Sunshine" situation? Eeeeeek.
She has a recital with her dance class coming up in June. I know all the words, all the steps.... and Maggie? ...Sadly, she does not. Instead, she likes to put her hands on her knees and waggle her bottom like a duck. Then she will look at me over her shoulder and ask expectantly, "what comes next, Mommy?" I am embarrassed to say that, in fact, I know exactly what comes next....
Hopefully I won't be forced to go out on the stage this summer and coach her during her performance. Ha ha . I jest. Sort of.
