World’s Meanest Parents.

Middle One claimed to hurt his wrist yesterday – beyond the scratch we could actually see.

Coffee gently wrapped it all up in an Ace bandage and, since then, Middle One has claimed not to be able to do his chores (clearing the table) or carry anything heavy.

We played along with this, thinking he wanted a bit more attention and, well, it’s not a big deal really. And, if it’s really bruised more than we can see, the bandage will help support it.

Whilst making these claims, however, he HAS managed to wrench the Wii controller away from Little One, fling stuff, fake-punch his older brother and giddily flail his arm.

I reminded him of how very, very sore that arm is supposed to be and he looked totally surprised that I had noticed. He quickly tucked his arm back against his body and said it still hurt a whole lot.

We both told him that he had to wait 12 hours after it STOPPED hurting before he could use it for anything fun. We don’t want it to get hurt MORE, right? And if it hurts enough that you can’t do chores or use that arm for anything, you totally cannot be goofing around. It needs to heal.

Every day we walk to the older boys’ new school so they’ll know the route and not get lost whenever the time comes that they walk there (and home) alone. It’s about a 20 minute walk – no big deal – and I will be accompanying them every day for a while. But we drag the sleds along to the new playground so they can get used to it ahead of time and we have a pretty good time on the climbers and slides and things.

So today, when it came time to go for our daily walk – and to go sledding – Middle One was STUNNED to learn that he was not able to participate in the sledding part. And that he did, in fact, have to accompany us on the walk to the school because he’s not allowed to stay home alone at the ripe age of 7.

He tried to tell us the arm was “just fine” (still bandaged) and had been for a while.

I then asked whether he was lying to us this morning when he said it still hurt. He remembered the “12 hour rule”.

I could see on his face that he was weighing the options.

If he said it still hurt this morning, he couldn’t go sledding.

If he said it DIDN’T hurt this morning then we’d know he was lying and we might be mad.

So he did the only thing he COULD do.. He burst into hysterical tears at the raging injustice of not being allowed to sled with his bandaged arm.

And he cried.

And he cried.

And he cried the entire 20 minute walk there.

And he cried the entire time he watched his brothers sled.

We explained to him that, as the parents, it’s our job to make sure he doesn’t get badly hurt. We have to take good care of him when he has a tiny hurt so it doesn’t get bigger.

He did not care one tiny little bit for this logic. He stomped his feet and he shuffled his feet and he sobbed and sobbed and sobbed while I hugged him.

When the other two were in the middle of their second trip down the hill, he announced that we “ALL need to go home” because he needed to pee. I shook my head – no way are we stopping the fun for the other kids! – and Coffee took him while I stuck around with the other two and let them go down the hill a few more times.

Once everyone was home safe and sound, Coffee and I reminded Middle One that if his arm doesn’t hurt for the rest of tonight (and when he wakes up tomorrow) he will, in fact, be able to resume sledding again.

And his chores…