Sunday, August 29, 2010

Just call me Sue

We had friends over Saturday to say goodbye to a couple who are moving back to the Midwest. Their son is just a few months older than The Boy. We all had a good time, which for the kids meant every piece of every toy we own was scattered to the four corners of our house. But whatever. That's what parties are for. Toward the end of the festivities, the kids were playing alone in one of the bedrooms. Things were noisy, so we figured everything was fine. Then, The Boy came out crying, holding drumsticks and rubbing his head. Our friends' son ran out after him, laughing and holding a drumstick and a recorder.

"N hit me!" The Boy sobbed. "He hit my head with the stick!"

I rubbed The Boy's head, looked at him, looked at N.

"Are you bleeding?"

"Noooo. But it hurts."

"Do we need to cut your head off?"

"No! But --"

"Are you going to live?"

"Yes, but --"

"No blood, no sympathy. We don't tattle."

I am becoming my mother. Or maybe my father. It's a toss up.

1 comment:

k said...

Woman, you are hardcore. But I kinda like it.