Beauty in the day: standing in line to see the Terra Cotta Warriors led to another wait in a darkened vestibule. Little 7-ish-year-old waiting near me with mom and dad was finding the wait to be – well – challenging. It became apparent that the little one was involved in dance or cheer, as she was doing steps and arm motions in her spot, much to the consternation of her mother, who would whisper to her to stop. Little One would stop, but the rhythm had a hold of her, and within seconds she would be back at it, only to be reminded by mom to stop again. This continued (to my delight), and gave credence to Maya Angelou’s quote: “Everything in the universe has a rhythm, everything dances.”
Beauty in the day: it’s the mom of the very young woman with a new (to her) pair of lungs. That mom has done some serious time in her life, and all her heartbeats have been for others.
Tammy Spading Wallace – you don’t need to donate your heart – it’s already been filling up so many people with love. ❤️
Beauty in the day: his mom came in to give us some information. I wrote it all down and then she said, “oh, and one more thing…” she started to laugh, corrected herself, then began again. “He told me…” she started to laugh again. This continued for a bit until she was able to continue.
“He doesn’t normally buy school lunch, so this has been new for him, and yesterday there were hot dogs. I asked him how he liked it. He told me he didn’t eat it. I asked why, and he said, ‘They only have mustard there.’ I told him I was pretty sure there would be ketchup too, but he confirmed with, ‘No ketchup at school mom. They can’t afford it.”
Mom broke up laughing again.
Beauty in the day: he is little. Teeny-tiny. He’s one of those teeny-tiny packages that pack a wallop. He came in before school with a nasty scrape on his forearm, the wound bright red. He was HOWLING. My poor assistant was trying to dab at the spot, which only made him howl more. Those little packages can make a lot of noise. 😉
I jumped in, if only to rescue my assistant and put and end to his misery. I grabbed some gauze, and got him to look at me while I counted loudly out loud, “1, 2, 3, 4,” and made some quick work of wiping away the redness.
“Here, buddy, hold this,” I told him, and grabbed his free hand to hold the fresh gauze over the scrape (at this point, it was medically unnecessary, but emotionally necessary).
His trauma scale was now at a 7 from the original 10, evidenced by the heavy breathing coupled with the FIERY level look he was aiming at me. I began to open a bandaid package. “I do NOT want a BIG bandaid!” he informed me in no uncertain terms.
I set down the big bandaid with great pomp, and grabbed up a medium one. I didn’t wait for his opinion, but started talking my way through it rapidly, having sized up my foe and determined the best course to confuse him. I placed it over his wound, and he took 3 even breaths, and then turned on his heel to head to class, muttering loudly to himself as he went.
At lunch, he returned. “Take it off,” he said regally and with great importance.
“Oh, no. No, we will not take if off, friend, because you have a scrape under there that needs to heal.”
“It is better now,” he dictated. “Take it off!”
“Nope. Sorry, buddy. Not taking it off. That needs to stay on.”
We had a short argument then, him wrangling to remove the bandaid, and me standing my ground. I came up with a compromise. “Okay, we can take it off so you can look at it, but then I will cover it back up with a new one.” He felt this to be preposterous (which it was), and opted to leave it on.
“Make sure you show it to your mom when you get home, and she can decide if you can take it off.”
I’ve never seen a 5-year-old master the technique of the double-take…until now. He screwed his face up tight and looked at me with the scoffing-est of scoffing looks. “I will NOT show it to my mother!” he said over his shoulder, as he exited the office with the swiftness of one who isn’t interested in getting caught up and any more ridiculous conversation.
It’s important that our jobs are not around the clock. I can likely use the down time to restrategize.
Beauty in the day: the story goes that there was this kid – a 2nd grader. She lost a tooth, and was the happy recipient of a little plastic treasure chest from the school nurse to save it in.
So, she put the tooth under her pillow and drifted off to sleep. Her dad went into the room with a dollar in his hand, and went to trade it for the tooth. Because he is a mere apprentice, and not the real tooth fairy, when he picked up the tiny treasure box, the tiny tooth inside rattled a bit, and the 8-year-old kid WOKE UP.
That’s not the bad part, actually.
She spoke in her sleepy state: “Daddy, Why are you stealing my tooth?” He assured her that he wasn’t, but she began to cry bitterly. Her dad was trying to STEAL her tooth. He put the tooth back, and left the dollar there.
In the morning, the 2nd grader showed her mom the tooth and the dollar. “But mom, something really bad happened. Dad tried to steal my tooth!”
Her mother assured her that this was not the case, but to no avail. The girl was convinced otherwise. Feeling that desperate times call for desperate measures (and realizing that it was a school day, and that her daughter might tell her friends a very bizarre and somewhat dastardly tale), she decided to tell her daughter the real truth. “There’s something I have to tell you,” she began. “You see, the truth is, Daddy is the tooth fairy.” Not surprisingly, this fell on deaf ears, and the 2nd grader began again lamenting the distressing and unswayable thought that her dad would STEAL her tooth. Somewhat exasperated, her mother queried, “WHY would Daddy ever steal your tooth?”
The child shrugged her shoulders and gave the only plausible answer: “Maybe he wanted to make some money for himself.”
Beauty in the day: making plans for Spring Break to be the “Coco-In-Charge” while the Littles’ mom and dad go away. Besides the fact that it’s always sweet to be with the grandkids, mine have been racking up points lately. My daughter’s birthday is just a few days after mine, and Jaffrey said, “Oh Mommy! It’s your birthday? Are you going to invite Coco to come?” 🙂 This was in addition to her exclamation upon seeing the colorfully wrapped gifts I had sent: “Oh, Mama! Coco LOVES you!” Everett was caught a few days later talking on his mommy’s phone to a poor, unsuspecting man. Not realizing it was “live” and not “memorex”, Bree asked who he was talking to when she found him, cuddled on the couch with his blanket and her phone. He sighed a long contented sigh and replied, “Oh, I’m just talking to my Coco.”
It will be a good visit.
Beauty in the day: it was another clinic visit for cutie-patootie, who has had a running tab in “I don’t feel good” days. The nurse thought to distract her with an offer of a few pretzels, which she accepted gratefully. As the nurse set about the (apparently) arduous task of laying out a pretzel snack, Little Miss asked her, “I’m not making you work too hard, am I?”
Now, I heard all of you “Awwww” collectively, but a short while later, I offered to give her mom a call, and as I (apparently) arduously dialed the number, she thanked me and asked sweetly, “I’m not making you work too hard, am I?”
We knew we’d been had.