A little bit older but none the wiser my oldest son at eleven or so was practicing his baseball swings with a brutal looking steel bat. He didn’t even play baseball but he had a bat and wanted to test his swing. Well he managed to test it right into his brother’s face. He whopped him fair and square on the cheek just below his right eye. No skin was broken, thus no stitches or trophy scar to tell the tale, but he did have a really good bruise that changed colour daily and was accompanied by massive swelling.
And to round out the childhood injuries that did not land us in jail as suspected child beaters, my athletic younger son, aged five and now the rock climber, swung himself too hard on the chin up bar, fell off and broke into tears. It was two days before Christmas and I was at home alone. I went to get him and we sat on the sofa together while I played Go Fish with one of the girls. Yes, I’d said I was at home alone, but what I meant was, I was the only adult home, I was surrounded by all my other children, none of them decision makers yet.
Anyway, I watched his leg as it turned a bright shade of red and radiated heat. I didn’t want to wrorry him so I kept an ice pack on it and waited for my hero to return from shopping. As he walked through the door I calmly said, “I think he’s broken his leg,” and my husband went into panic mode, as I had expected. Again I was able to stay at home while he played the good but bad parent. He had a spiral fracture of of his right femur. He had to have it set with nothing stronger than a couple of M&M’s and a Tylenol. My brave cowboy had to hold his beloved son down while the bone-setter did his work.
No stitches, no scars, but a good story.
Well hello there! My name is Vivienne McNeny.
I am an empty nester exploring life as a Boomer…you could say I'm happily Boomering along!
As a homeschooling Mum I have finally quit the job of role model and mentor to my four children. I do what I want to do, eat when I feel like it, enjoy life with my blue eyed cowboy and clean my house once a month or so whether it needs it or not!
In true English form I write about the emergence of my true identity now that I can no longer hide behind my children as their Mum.
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