Nip it in the bud
Some parents are vigilant when it comes to the care of their children. Other parents are a little bit more haphazard.
I mean well and resolve to do better next time, but I’m also aware of the road to hell.
As often as not, I’m paddling along in steady state when someone snaps an oar to send us eddying off into the foam. Whilst I’ve never been brave enough to try white water rafting, I’m confident that I’d drown before the boat left the shore.
Some children shun band aides. They tough it out. Other children require immediate medical attention for microscopic injuries and a full panoply of emergency services. The range of reactions to injuries, minor and major, run the gamut.
My youngest son falls into the microdot school of injuries. Every minor infraction induces howls of wailing. It’s the ‘on-off’ button that’s at fault here, as there is no degree of gradation. A stake through the heart or poke with a dull darning needle, the net effect is the same, deafening.
As he has grown older, he has developed his own coping mechanism, independently. The solution for any injury is to put the offending member under running water. The magical properties of water suit me just fine, and I have no care for the rise in the utility bills as a consequence.
Sometimes, such as in school or in class, running water is not freely available. As a result, he has developed an alternative strategy for such situations. In school he will lick or suck the injury.
On an ordinary Tuesday he suffers some minor wound to his thumb whilst at school, in the morning. By the time I collect him from school in the afternoon, a note from his teacher explains that he has experienced a tough day, due to the thumb. Once home, within the confines of the house, I am able to track him down. This is an important step, one to be carefully orchestrated. If I had attempted to check the thumb whilst he was still at school, he would have run away and hidden. The hiding spots at home are so much more manageable.
I find him under his bed, muttering, “I am a lizard. I am dah ugly. I am dah most hideous boy on dah planet.†Somehow, the negative talk is an element that pains me more than the injury itself. Derogatory terms of self loathing are pernicious and damaging. Their persistence is daunting. I don’t try and persuade him with words, but hold his ankles and ease him out for a cuddle. He tucks his hands in his armpits, out of view.
We talk about his day, or rather I talk about his day, whilst he mutters self abusive words. I hope that my words will distract him. They don’t. It’s like a game of poker, bluff and disguise. I could ask him to show me his hands, but we both know that he won’t. I could do with a dollop of logic to help me through the negotiation but the other two are down stairs unsupervised, I need to speed up.
I slide my hands along his forearms, grip and whip out his hands to lay them flat on his thighs. His right hand looks like a boxer’s mitt, swollen and red. The skin is crazed, raised and angry. “Don look at it!†he wails. “I am a lizard. I am dah ugly. I am dah most hideous boy on dah planet.†The left side of his face and cheek are going the same route from the constant exposure to the wet trail from his thumb. The repetition many hundreds of times a minute throughout the day, a reaction to a tiny hurt in the morning, has brought about this result. I don’t believe that he has much in the way of vanity. His opinions on beauty are more in the nature of balance, uniformity and an absence of imperfection.
I think back to my mis-spent youth as a thumb sucker and the many means of torture used to make me normal. I remember the black leather thumb covering, with the wrist strap and the buckle. I suspect that they are no longer available, I hope. The guilt associated with this pleasure habit was long lasting, but ineffective, besides, his motivations are different.
He is right handed. The whole arm hangs uselessly throughout the afternoon and evening as if paralyzed. His left hand can’t compensate. It is an extreme solution but a logical one. I’ve seen this performance from both the boys over the years. The hurt foot means they resort to a crawl on hands and knees, effective and no longer surprising. I wait until bed time to offer assistance, when he is calmer and possibly more compliant.
He whimpers in bed, left hand cradling the injured one. Real tears course over his face, a damp patch either side of his head on the pillow. I explain the strategy with care, ensuring that the last word I use is ‘cream.’ ‘Cream,’ is unfortunately one of his trigger words and my face is far too close to his when he shrieks and dives for cover.
I use his brother, a neutral party in the next bed. “What are dey?†he asks as I dangle one from each of my hands. “I don’t know, you tell me? Do they look familiar?â€
“Er yes……dey are be gloves?â€
“You’re right! But whose gloves do you think they are?â€
“Er……..dey are Mario’s gloves? DAY ARE MARIO’S GLOVES! WOO HOO!†He can’t fake his reaction and the message filters through the six foot of muffled bed coverings to his little brother. His head pops out to see the white cotton gloves, eyes on stalks, the power of auto suggestion. “Are dey Mario’s gloves?â€
“No really, they’re mine. I wear them at night when my hands hurt sometimes.†He pauses. I dangle. “May be…..maybe you are be a good sharer wiv me?â€
“Oh I don’t know about that. They’re very special gloves. You might lose them?â€
“No.â€
“O.k. here the deal.â€
“Wot?â€
“Cream first then gloves.†His hands fly to cover his mouth with the puffed out cheeks of those on the cusp of explosion. We spend several more minutes in silent negotiation and hot air exchange, huffs, puffs and sighs. He extends his arms, squeezes his eyes tight shut and submits to a slathering. His convulsions of revulsion are genuine, cold, sticky and abhorrent. “Now for the gloves!†We dither with digits, finger isolation and fabric until each hand is encased, protected and ready to submit to healing during the night. His hands lie on top of the duvet cover quivering and twitching, alien and isolated, traitors. A rigid little packet of nerve endings.
I check on him later, before I go to bed myself. He maintains the same position, a soldier on duty, his body vigilant, the gloves still in place, a statue of resignation. Supreme being that I most surely am, I have any number of talents, but even if I were 7 rather than 47, I would be incapable of lying immobile for 10 hours, asleep or awake.
For other people, it’s the only option.
Stumble it!
January 28th, 2008 at 2:52 am
The Mario gloves are inspired. In our family apparently band-aids cover anything not cured by a kiss.
January 28th, 2008 at 4:57 am
It’s a good thing he didn’t say Lizard King, you’d have to go and buy him leather pants in place of the gloves and then you’d be up against copyright infringement.
January 28th, 2008 at 4:58 am
Once again Maddy, you leave me speechless and awestruck..
you rock woman..
January 28th, 2008 at 5:34 am
Mario Gloves… brilliant solution.
January 28th, 2008 at 6:28 am
Poor guy, we have the same issues with ‘cream’. It’s a trigger word signaling instant tantrum, and said ‘cream’ must be out of reach or it will be catapulted into the next room. Mario gloves are a brilliant idea!
January 28th, 2008 at 6:30 am
awww, poor fellow. i hear you about being deeply bothered by the negative self-talk. brilliant solution calling them mario’s gloves!
January 28th, 2008 at 7:19 am
So good of you to “be a good sharer” with him!
January 28th, 2008 at 7:22 am
Been there.. doing that.. what works for mine (the 8yr old)… some of the time
1. Ice - once we finally managed to get a bandaid on my 8yr old’s finger (caught in van door nearly had to go to the hospital for a sedative for him… off the scale meltdown over a bandaid) I made him up an ice pack and he laid his hand on it once in bed.
We too like running water for cuts.
Must be a sensory thing for them.
2. Gloves - been there… works well EXCEPT for those times that you really need a bandaid. Or it’s an elbow or a leg… we find covering it up helps even in the middle of summer and sitting with a towel on the sofa… is a compromise.
3. It’s not cream… it’s MAGIC cream.
4. Arnica cream is for those times they could really use an icepack and you know you aren’t getting anywhere near them.
5. Bandaids - let them pick out at the store. Still have arguments over them, but it’s better b/c he chooses them not me.
Mine like to show off their hurts. But I have been told I’m mean about it. B/c I don’t like to feed the 8yr old’s anxiety over bangs. So I hand out kisses if it’s an accident.. fix only if broken or bleeding. If it was a case of not listening and it’s not broken or bleeding I ignore it and him.
It’s seems to have helped… b/c he will now calmly ask for “magic cream” if he gets banged up instead of a melt down. And calm.. always gets attention.
Sheri
January 28th, 2008 at 8:01 am
I think this is the most beautiful post you have ever written. Maddy, you slay me with your humor, your love and your attention to the small things. I could use a pair of those gloves.
January 28th, 2008 at 8:20 am
Mario gloves! what a great idea Maddy.
January 28th, 2008 at 9:23 am
Oh my heart broke as I read about the self-loathing commentary. What a clever and wonderfully patient mother you are…and freaking brilliant with the implied Mario gloves. How’s the little sleepless soldier doing now?
January 28th, 2008 at 9:33 am
My son also struggles with matching the reaction to the injury. A paper cut may as well be an amputation–and bandaids are despised and abhorred. I love the Mario gloves. Clever mom.
January 28th, 2008 at 9:33 am
I’m with frogpondsrock on this one — nearly speechless here, and definitely awestruck. Fabulous.
How and where do you get all your patience?
January 28th, 2008 at 10:42 am
Wow.
That is both heart-breaking and heart-warming, all at once. Kind of like life.
January 28th, 2008 at 11:19 am
The self loathing is hearh breaking, Mario gloves brillance, and I had Tabasco to stop sucking my thumb or was it shewing my nails? So many nasty habits to aquit myself of.
January 28th, 2008 at 1:22 pm
You make it all better
January 28th, 2008 at 3:35 pm
What a good “sharer” you are. I’ve never met anyone quite so adept and making someone else (a little someone else at that) think something is their idea and have them persuade you to do the very thing you want. A skill I’m working on in hopes of better persuasion skills.
January 28th, 2008 at 4:11 pm
Well you know that’s because I choose to blog about the one positive incident in any one 24 hour period, rather than the other 389 mistakes that I made in the other 23 hours and 59 minutes.
January 28th, 2008 at 4:34 pm
Oh, those are the times I feel so helpless and ineffective as a parent. I cried the first time Bubba fisted himself in the head repeatedly saying “I am a stupid, stupid bad boy.” We worked through it, but it hurts.
January 28th, 2008 at 5:12 pm
I love how you handled everything with his hands. So fantastic to be patient and reassuring and finding a way to make it all better.
I understand the pain that comes from hearing words of self-loathing. Every once and a while J will say something and it just hurts. We work through it the best we can when that happens.
January 28th, 2008 at 6:47 pm
Joey and Andy are both thumbsuckers- and like me, they hate creams. But they have learned that if the thumbs get too red (especially prone in winter), mommy gets out the lanolin and one must just deal with the goo if the pain is to go away. Neither of them are yet old enough for full-out revolt; I’ll keep the glove trick in mind.
January 28th, 2008 at 7:19 pm
So clever you are! Cream and band-aids are completely unacceptable for my son, too. And a paper cut is horrific whereas a fall down the stairs is almost unnoticed. And the self-loathing, we get that too and it is heartbreaking. Great post!
January 28th, 2008 at 7:22 pm
My youngest won’t let me look at him or get near him when he hurts himself, but he does it with big hurts, not little ones. The little ones he tells me and asks for a “bawnaid”, but he gets stung by a wasp, or cuts his finger, or burns his foot or something and he goes into hiding. It scares the heck out of me. Someday he’d just go off somewhere and bleed to death if it weren’t for his brother who usually rats on him.
You did a marvelous job helping him through that. I am thoroughly impressed.
January 28th, 2008 at 7:40 pm
We love Mario and Nintendo here way to go girl that was inspired.
When G started to read, I bought some Neosporin with “pain relief.” This worked for us and stopped the picking and scratching. (He didn’t want to scratch off the pain relief…)
January 28th, 2008 at 8:01 pm
1 in 389?
That’s better than I usually do.
Way to go, Maddie!
Joe
January 28th, 2008 at 10:11 pm
This was beautiful, Maddy. And sad. And triumphant. All at once.
And you are some mama.
January 29th, 2008 at 2:58 am
You mean it’s not unusual that Maya freaks at the mention of the word cream? I finally got the tiniest dab of arnica on a bruise the other night by calling it magic feel better medicine…
And yes, you are one hell of a mother Maddy.
January 29th, 2008 at 1:12 pm
My big boy is the same, a world of perfection defined by himself weekly. It DOES hurt so much when they are so hard on themselves for whatever infraction of imperfection. Bless their hearts. I’d like to help diffuse it more. I love the Mario gloves, you are so clever.
January 29th, 2008 at 3:38 pm
You amaze me with your creativity.
January 29th, 2008 at 4:23 pm
I can’t imagine having the patience to deal with things like that on a regular basis. Your children are lucky to have you.
January 30th, 2008 at 9:06 am
Injuries in our home just get picked at. No bandages, no creams, no negotiations. So they just get worse most of the time. And which is why, I’d love nothing more, than to wrap that kid in bubble wrap… but that would be too much like a bandage, eh?