Imperfectly Nice

WWMD about a splinter?

My poor sweet little one got a ridiculously large splinter tonight and during the long extraction process he was so brave and so still … but far from quiet and more than a little dramatic.

Neil and I were … maybe not helpful. Neil, with his booming football coach voice, kept saying things like, “I’m going to get the knife now,” while I screamed at him to shut his pie hole because screaming WILL SCARE THE CHILD. We both exhibited great moments in parenting. I am usually the one who is calm in a crisis and he is the one who gets a little rattled. It is certainly easier to be the one to soothe and comfort though than to be the one faced with Doing the Thing, e.g. digging a splinter roughly the size of a bicycle out of a four-year-old’s foot.

Of course, kids pick up on adult tension so Vaught, while holding very still, especially considering all of the sharp instruments and digging going on in his foot, was wailing the following:

What’s going to haaaaaaapen to meeeee?
Am I going to diiiiiieeee?
But is Daddy a doctor?
I just want to go to Beeeeethleheeeeem. (Me: ???)
Because Mary will help me! (Me: Of course.)
Can we tell Santa Claus about this?
Help me Tom Cruise! Use your witchcraft to get this splinter out of me! (These may or may not be his exact words.)
Then he made the sign of the cross and said the prayer they say before snack time at school.

Slightly dramatic, completely brave and we are apparently getting our money’s worth from this Catholic education.

A little triple antibiotic cream, a Woody and Jesse bandage, and some major gratitude for Dr. Daddy, and he is blissfully asleep with a great war story to tell on the playground tomorrow.

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