I have decided my boys think entirely too much.
I came home from work to discover an epic mess in the front yard. They had used a shovel to dig a pit right next to the sidewalk. Then, they filled the pit with sticks.
I asked my husband what they were doing and he told me they attempting to build a fire pit. On closer inspection, it really did look like a fire pit. Those industrious five-year-olds had build a rather nice little fire pit. Isn’t that terrifying?
I demanded to know why he let them build a fire pit.
“I didn’t know what they were doing until they started whispering about matches. Then outside time was OVER,” he explained.
Well, thank heavens for THAT.
In related news, I am finding the apples haven’t fallen far from the tree.
When I was about 6, I fell on the playground and broke my arm. I didn’t tell anyone at school what had happened because I was convinced I was going to get in trouble. (Not sure about that leap of logic, but that’s exactly what I was thinking.) It wasn’t until we were on a field trip later that day when a teacher noticed I was going in to shock and asked me what was wrong. I finally admitted it, was taken to the hospital, and spent the next 8 weeks in a cast.
Robert did something terrifyingly similar. While building his fire pit, he fell on a stick. It produced a huge gash under his chin, right up close to his neck. Instead of telling anyone, he just kept his chin down to stop the bleeding and continued on with his day. I am no doctor but, any wound close to a major artery should probably be addressed promptly. Just sayin’.
It wasn’t until bath time that night when I noticed anything unusual. I thought he had mud under his chin from playing and when I told him to lift his head so I could clean it, I saw it was actually dried blood and I got the full view of his injury. It was still open and desperately needed to be cleaned up. A warm washcloth, few butterfly bandages, some antibiotic ointment, and a bowl of ice cream later, and he was all patched up. (I am not ashamed to say I bribed him with the ice cream. He was so scared it was going to hurt, I would have promised him a Volvo to get that cut cleaned and dressed.)
We then had to have the, “Don’t be a weird kid like your mother was” talk after that. I also threw in the anticipatory, “Don’t roll around in the woods because there are ticks in there and they are wicked creepy” talk because, well, I see the path we are headed down here. I also considered the “Please tell me right away if you get hit by a car on your bicycle because that is something you really don’t need to keep to yourself” talk, but I figured that would give them too many ideas and I am still a little embarrassed that that one legitimately happened to me…