If you've been around me long enough, you come to realize that nothing goes a little bit wrong. I suppose this is what lends to my sense of humor. If I didn't laugh it off, I would SURELY end up in a rubber room with a nice white huggie jacket muttering some nonsensical word while trying to catch imaginary gnats with my tongue. Just a thought. I think I'd rather laugh.
My son has been surrounded by girls since day one. I have watched him play house and dolls and school. Rarely can he talk the prima donnas of the block into playing war or towing skateboards behind wagons pulled by bikes down a hill of muddy compost. Go figure. And bugs? For-get-it! So when he began asking for play dates with his male friends from school, I was exstatic.
It was a little awkward at first. For about thirty seconds, Boo had to comprehend that this person WANTED to smash leggos from the top step. This new friend collected baseball cards too and even wanted to TRADE! Well, then he was off like a shot.
You should be careful what you ask for because Momma, you just might get it.
I tolerated the whooping and the volume as long as my ears weren't bleeding and no one was crying. I heard the shatter and stayed calm enough to realize it was a tower of Magnetix being crushed by The Hulk. When the Matchbox cars flew from the dresser to the bed over a pit of lava that was home to a wild fire breathing angry LOUD dragon; I counted to ten..forty-seven times. I even endured the burping and farting that elicited the peels of pants-peeing laughter. But then there was this little "squeak" and I flipped out.
It was soft at first, but then it got a teensy bit louder and a little faster. They were jumping on the bed. "OHHHHHHH no you DON'T!" I thought through gritted teeth and I exploded off the couch and headed up the stairs. I mean I was hustling. I reached the top and stopped to listen at the door. The game plan was to open the door at the perfect moment to catch them mid-air. (My brother and I used to beat the holy snot out of each other using pillows as sabers to knock the one jumping into the wall or off the bed. It was hilarious until we crashed through the bed, the mattress, the boxsprings and the wooden frame. Sorry Dad. That's REALLY how my bed broke. It wasn't that story I told about the rabid dog and the winged bear with the sledgehammer. Whew! What a load off MY chest!)
ANYWAY, I held the handle and began to slightly sway to their jumping rhythm. I even counted it off: "1...2...3..." and I flung the door open while saying in my official mommy voice:
"We do NOT jump on the beds in this hou..." but I stopped short. I caught them all right. I scared my son, who was mid air smiling so hard that he was drooling. His arms and legs were out-stretched like an "x" . He looked in my direction and not where he was supposed to be jumping and promptly crashed into the headboard of his little bed: face first. There was this thick slicing sound and a gasp. He grabbed his face and began to rock back and forth moaning softly. His pal hugged him and told him I would fix it.
I stepped up and pulled his hands gently away. There was a gash along his forehead: one of those that hasn't begun to bleed ; it's just white where all the skin is gone and the body hasn't realized it yet.. Ewwwwww. So I rushed him to the bathroom to apply a rag. I tried to tell him he looked like Harry Potter.
His response was a small half-grin through tough little man tears; "Wish I had his wand. I'd make this go away."
I hugged him and told him that's why we don't jump on the bed.
He thought for a minute and said "I think that's why we don't scare people."
Thanks staying a minute. This sheepish mom bids adieu until next time.
