A Silly Injury

Last night, in a Madeleine-worthy performance of klutziness, I wound up completely wiping out in the simple attempt to walk across the dining room floor.  Initially tripping on a kiddie toy, then slipping in my socks as I tried to regain my balance, I then crashed into the vacuum, bashing my foot against it and rendering it cut up and massively bruised, before actually hitting the ground.  As I lay there, writhing and crying out in pain, Julia, sympathetic heart that she is, came running from her tv show to see if I was okay.  Her method of checking on/comforting me was to sit down atop me as I lay on the floor and bounce her full weight up and down on me, exclaiming, "Aww!  Mama!  Are you OKAY?  Did you hurt yourself??"

It's the thought that counts, right?

At any rate, I wound up with my leg elevated on the couch and a bag of frozen peas as a substitute for ice, and despite my obvious laid-up position, the kids seemed to think I was still capable of providing for them the instant they asked for things.  "MOM!  Can you get me some bread with pumpkin butter?" "Mommy, I want another DESSERT!"  "Mom, can you read me this book?"  Once I pointed out the fact that I was a little busy, the kids flocked to my side to examine my injury.  I was lucky enough to get lots of caresses all over my open wound, although I did put a halt to things at Julia's attempted kiss.  "Wait!" I shouted.  "You know what?  Why don't you kiss my cheek, because we don't want to get your mouth germs in my open cut, okay?"  Julia happily complied, while Madeleine felt the more essential thing to do was to poke and prod at the bag of frozen peas and repeatedly report to me that it felt cold after every touch.

After the fascination with my icing was over with, the girls went back to the couch with their chosen books, waiting for Daddy to finish showering so he could read to them.  Julia looked over at me lovingly and said, "Mama, did you know that it made ME want to cry when I heard YOU get hurt?"  "You're so sweet, honey," I commended her, then added, "Can you believe it hurt so much that I was crying?"  Quick to reassure me, Julia insisted, "No, no, MOM!  You weren't CRYING!  You were just WHINING!"

I prefer the term whimpering, myself.

After limping upstairs to put Madeleine to bed, I discovered that the boo-boo on my foot, now dressed and under a band-aid, was of great interest to one of us.  "Mommy?  But WHERE'S your BOO-BOO?" Madeleine asked me, as we laid on her couch in the dark, snuggling.  "It's on my foot," I told her, and she immediately hopped off the couch and went to examine my foot, despite all the lights being off.  "Mommy?  Can I see your boo-boo?  Can you take off your band-aid?" she asked me.  I nixed the idea and pulled her back up to the couch to snuggle me, beginning to sing her lullaby.  "No, no, no, I want a different song!" she exclaimed, clamping a hand over my mouth.  I asked her what song she would like, but unfortunately was not able to pull through for her when she requested "The Boo-Boo Song."  Her obsession with my boo-boo continued as I put her in my crib and she recited to me, "But we DON'T want to kiss your boo-boo, because then our mouth germs will go FLYING up your leg!"

This morning, Julia woke up before Ethan had left for work, and he gave her strict instructions not to awaken me until it was 7:00.  Hence, my earliest morning memories were of Julia barging into my room, announcing happily, "Mooooom!  The first number on the clock is SEEEEVEN!"  She then began actually pulling my arm off of the bundle of blankets it was wrapped around, and asked me considerately, "Uh, Mom, do you need me to help you with your foot?"  I told her that my foot actually felt okay, but that I needed to lay down for two more minutes so I could fully wake up.  "But MAMAAA!  The first number is SEVEN!" she declared, as if that fact alone should provide me the motivation to leap out of bed.  God knows how long she waited downstairs for the time to change.  She was not in the mood to wait one second longer.  I went downstairs with her and she happily tended to her morning duties of going potty and brushing her teeth, exhibiting a severe case of diarrhea of the mouth.  She must have been sitting in her solitary confinement absolutely DESPERATE for the clock to turn to 7 so she could have a companion.

The good news is that my foot, aside from being cut and bruised, feels basically fine today, so my pain was short-lived.  And on a completely unrelated topic, Madeleine's drawings continue to get creepier and creepier.  Here is her latest picture of a bloodied, decaying Dora face:

We need to check Backpack to find something to heal my bloody, diseased face!!  Say: BACKPACK!