Yes, I know they hurt.

Indeed they hurt proportionately more than most other kinds of cuts.

I'm not sure why it is that we've not experienced them prior to this point. I suspect it has something to do with his aversion to the texture of paper, which he generally avoids because of his tactile defensiveness.

“How can I restart life?” he shrieks with his finger poised under the running tap water. His forearm is steadied by the edge of the sink but the rest of his body jangles and sparks. The sound is deafening as he growls, barks and makes rooster noises in-between the sentences.
“I'm gonna die!” he bellows. His older brother comes over to observe and comment, “have I ever had a paper cut before?”
“No I don't think so.”
“I think maybe I am allergic to paper. Can you tell my teacher that I'm allergic to paper coz I don't wanna die either.” His brother continues to scream, “I'm too young to die!”
“Is he really gonna die? Maybe we should take him to the ER?”
“I'm too old to be a bird!” he shrieks and flaps. I push a damp face cloth into the mouth that spits and snaps at the air, to give him something to bite on. The kettle clicks off and puffs of steam rises. “Don't burn him mum, he's not been that bad. Don't worry little guy, you're gonna be o.k. mum's not gonna burn you honest!” I am so grateful that there isn't a social worker lurking around to report me to the authorities. I have no idea what to do about the ever blossoming OCD tendencies in the boys which keep popping out at unexpected moments.

Every few minutes he erupts, jumping jack style, from his position on the step and hurtles off with muffled cries to the other room. He bounces frantically on the trampolene like a thing possessed. It would be funny to observe if it weren't quite so extraordinary to witness. He dashes back to the sink and the water.

He remains in this position for a long time. When the time is right, he nips off to collect some entertainment, a book, and then returns to the tap. The water flows over his left hand and he holds the pages of the book in his right. I consider this to be the equivalent of getting back on a horse after a fall. I am delighted with this coping mechanism. I flick on the garbage disposal unit to empty the debris that's piling up as the sink fills. I remember a second to late, that the noise and the whirring blades are likely set him off.

They don't set him off. Instead they set off his brother who comes charging into the room to defend him. “Don't chop off his fingers! He's not been that bad! He needs his fingers for school tomorrow! He can't go without his fingers.”

This scenario continues for an hour and fifty minutes. I eventually transfer him to the sofa where we read Calvin and Hobbes and cuddle, whilst his legs tap rhythmically on the trampolene.

Spouse returns home unusually early. “It's unusually quiet around here,” he murmurs as his head snakes around to check that he has returned to the correct den, in daylight hours. “Nice to see you sitting down for a change. You should try and take things more easy.” His twitchy but deflated son, skitters off on a mission. He is replaced by his older brother and a torrent of questions. He stands stock still, blanched, as his son blasts him with questions that revolve around the duration of life, the many hazards of life, and life as we no longer know it.

I sip my tea. Stone cold. “I thought it would be nice to come home in time for dinner for a change.” I gulp. Dinner? How come I didn't get around to it today? Is it that time already? Where has the day gone? I have reached an all time low in productivity. It seems so unimportant now that neither of the boys ever eats anything. I shall be stripped of my title, ‘home maker.’ A traitor to the cause, a woman who makes nothing. My tiny universe has been turned upside down. I was so sure that I’d become more efficient as they grew older, not less so!
He rubs his chin, “oh dear, I'm sorry,” he offers as I am covered with confusion. “I know! How about we go out for dinner instead, a real treat.”
“Do you know anywhere local that serves Ensure?”

[two chocolate and one vanilla please]

If you’re in the mood for a couple of piccies and a teeny tiny video, then nip over to my old black blog for a moment. here for my first [feeble] attempt at Wordless Wednesday
I am grateful to anyone who doesn’t point out that the ‘remain clothed at all times’ campaign, has failed.