When we were growing up, our parents all told us their wise words of wisdom gleaned from their hard learned life lessons. We'd all listen politely, sort of, then basically write them off because, as everyone knows, you cannot learn from someone else's mistakes.
Wrong.
Friends of ours had twin boys. When this happened, they were probably 7 or 8 years old. They were having the age old debate over "Can" vs "May" in their house as most parents do at some point or other. One of the boys ran in to his father and said, "Dad, can I (do whatever it was he wanted to do inserted here)?", his father's response was a very calm, "Can I throw you out the window?"
His son looked at him in horror and said, "NO!", to which his father said, "WRONG!", and unceremoniously picked him up and bodily deposited him out the window to the ground below (the room was partially below ground so he only let the boy drop about 3 feet, so don't panic here). The kid came STORMING back into the house, red faced and furious, yelling the whole, "You can't do that to me!" thing, and his father calmly said, "Let's try this again. Go ahead and ask me your question".
Once again, the boy asks, "Can I (insert whatever he wanted here)?". His father responded, "Can I throw you out the window?" The boy said, "NO!!!" The father said, "WRONG!!!", and promptly dumped him out the window yet again. Now, this scenario played out three or four more times. Are you seeing a pattern here?
Finally, totally defeated, the son comes back in, and his father tells him to try this again. So he says to his father in a weary voice, "Can I (insert it one more time for posterity)?". His father says yet again, "Can I throw you out the window?", and in total exasperation the son says, "YES, Dad!! YES, You CAN throw me out the window!!! You've done it (some exaggerated number) times already!!!" With a smirk, his father then says "MAY I throw you out the window?"
The light finally dawning on the boy, his jaw drops open and he just stares at his father and he utters a stern "NO!! NO you may NOT throw me out the window!!" Smiling, the father said, "Well now, I think you've FINALLY learned the difference between "CAN" and "MAY". We won't be having an issue with that again, will we?" And they did not. The boy is grown and off to college now without ever having to be thrown out of another window, to my knowledge.
I told my boys that story when they were roughly 4 and 5 and we were having that same, exact Can/May issue. They thought it was really funny at first. Especially the "throwing you out the window" part. However, for about 3 months when they'd start out a question with "Can I?", all WonderHubby or I would have to do is say, "Can I throw you out the window?", and they instantly converted the question to "May I?" After about 3 months they didn't ask "Can I?" questions anymore. That's the only example I actually know of where someone truly learned from someone else's mistake.
Well, that, and it's about an 8 foot drop to the ground from our windows. *g*
Friday, May 15, 2009
Thursday, May 14, 2009
Do you need shots for those bites?
WonderHubby is a great straight man.
When the stuff that inevitably happens in our weird-shit endowed life, he's the first one I look to for that totally dry, sane, comment that will set me off onto something that will then make the situation funny. At least to us, and frankly, the way our life works, we're the only ones that matter at the time.
WonderHubby is amazing, and I adore him. He's had 2 heart attacks, one at 36, and one at 38, and is now the Rock of Gibraltar and nothing can touch him. His cardiologists are thrilled with him every year at his check ups, and we celebrate every year that we have together that we might not have had if he hadn't been so smart and didn't fight going to the hospital like a lot of men do. But, I digress, that's a story for another time.
His second "event" (yes, that's what they call them...."events"....I'm sorry, but that sounds like a party or some other social engagement) was on October 4th. I can't remember the exact date of his first one, just that it was a day or so before my birthday in April, but, the second, was October 4th. There's a reason I remember.
When you have an "event" they give you a blood thinner (whose trademarked name I can't mention here but it rhymes with blavix) to keep anything in the blood from adhering to the walls of the arteries along with that, it also prevents the blood from clotting normally. They keep you on this for a month (at least they did then) after the "event" to make sure that the blood flows through the arteries as smoothly as possible to prevent any further issues that close to the "event".
That October was a particularly stressful month. I was 6 months pregnant with our youngest son, there were some unusually ugly financial issues that were out of our control, two older sons (ages 5 and just 4)who had to be convinced that their father wasn't going to die, it wasn't necessarily the most relaxing environment for him to recover in. But, we did the best we could with what we had, and actually, by the end of the month things were relatively back to normal. WonderHubby had gone back to work, things were going fairly smoothly, all things considered.
Until...
October 29th we decide we're going to do the Jack-O-Lantern with the boys. Again, trying to get things back to normal, we'd gone to a local farm, hand picked our glorious pumpkin, brought it home. The boys were PROUD of this pumpkin. It was a perfect orange color. There weren't any flaws on it anywhere that you could see. I mean, this was the *perfect* Halloween Jack-O-Lantern pumpkin, and the boys couldn't wait to get their hands on it and create their masterpiece of pumpkinry.
So, WonderHubby takes the boys out onto the porch with the newspapers and spreads them out. They carefully place their spectacular pumpkin in the middle of the papers, drew the circle on the top where it needed to be cut and WonderHubby walks out onto the porch brandishing....the implement of distruction...the 12" butcher knife. Now, my maternal instinct has kicked in and I'm busy trying to keep the boys back away from him and reminding him of the "knife circle" that I learned a bazillion years ago in Girl Scouts. He's assuring me in a calm voice that he knows full well how to handle a knife and I start to relax....a little. But, I kept watching him anyway, because, well, that's just what Moms do.
He had the boy's complete attention. They were mesmerized by the huge blade of the knife. WonderHubby was explaining in detail how sharp the knife was and how they couldn't touch a knife unless one of us was with them. The normal "good parent" knife speech. Then he put the tip of the blade to the orange flesh of the pumpkin, rested his hand on the pumpkin itself and said, "You have to be very careful...."
Now, while he's setting himself up, it's running through my head in slow motion that he's got his left hand in the way of the blade and when he pulls up he's going to cut himself. BUT, I don't have time to say anything SO, as he's saying the word "careful", he sliced not only the pumpkin, but the skin between his forefinger and his thumb. He wanted to curse SO bad but had these two LITTLE boys staring at him with HUGE eyes and he couldn't, and I ran for a towel, and his hand started to bleed.
And bleed...and bleed...and bleed. Did I mention the part where they keep him on that blood thinner for a month and it keeps the blood from coagulating??? He'd had the "event" on October 4th, this was only October 29th, it hadn't been a month yet. He was still taking that medication. We tried direct pressure, we tried elevation, we tried pressure point, it wouldn't stop bleeding. It wasn't big enough for a tourniquet. After each solution failed, I'd say, "I think maybe we need to go to the hospital, you may need stitches." He'd growl "NO, I'm NOT going to the hospital for the second time this MONTH!" at me. Finally, when we got to the tourniquet point I looked at him and said, "We're going to the hospital."
What I haven't said at this point is that I'm cracking up through this. The madder he's getting, the more I'm laughing. Who the HELL has a pumpkin accident??? WonderHubby. By the time he finally agreed to go to the hospital, he was FURIOUS, and I was hysterical. I kept apologizing but he didn't want to hear it, which just made it worse for me. I couldn't help it. That inappropriate laughter thingy that I have was going at full tilt.
We get to the hospital and the triage nurse asks him what he's there for and he says, "Because I'm an idiot." I lose it, the nurse laughs. She settles down and asks him again. Remember he's mad. She asks again why he's there, his response was, "Because a pumpkin bit me." I lose it again, the nurse loses it and a couple of other people behind the desk start laughing too. He's not laughing. Finally we all settle down and she gets him to tell her what happened and we're all trying not to laugh. Needless to say, the pumpkin injury wasn't the most critical in the ER that evening so we had to wait a little while.
Finally they get to us, and he has to explain this AGAIN to the doctor. I can't live through this again. I'm laughing as the doctor is asking the question. So is one of the nurses who happens to be walking by. WonderHubby is GLARING at me while he tells the doctor what happened (he left out the pumpkin biting part for the doctor). He needed about 8 stitches and we got to leave.
I think the relief of having to be at the ER for something that I KNEW wasn't going to kill him was what was making me laugh so hard. Being there for something routine instead of something life-threatening makes a world of difference. I'll take stitches any day.
But, there hasn't been a Halloween since that I don't hand him oven mitts or work gloves before I give him the butcher knife to cut the Jack-O-Lantern. Being the perfect straight man he'll tell me something like, "The pumpkin's already eaten tonight, but thanks anyway."
When the stuff that inevitably happens in our weird-shit endowed life, he's the first one I look to for that totally dry, sane, comment that will set me off onto something that will then make the situation funny. At least to us, and frankly, the way our life works, we're the only ones that matter at the time.
WonderHubby is amazing, and I adore him. He's had 2 heart attacks, one at 36, and one at 38, and is now the Rock of Gibraltar and nothing can touch him. His cardiologists are thrilled with him every year at his check ups, and we celebrate every year that we have together that we might not have had if he hadn't been so smart and didn't fight going to the hospital like a lot of men do. But, I digress, that's a story for another time.
His second "event" (yes, that's what they call them...."events"....I'm sorry, but that sounds like a party or some other social engagement) was on October 4th. I can't remember the exact date of his first one, just that it was a day or so before my birthday in April, but, the second, was October 4th. There's a reason I remember.
When you have an "event" they give you a blood thinner (whose trademarked name I can't mention here but it rhymes with blavix) to keep anything in the blood from adhering to the walls of the arteries along with that, it also prevents the blood from clotting normally. They keep you on this for a month (at least they did then) after the "event" to make sure that the blood flows through the arteries as smoothly as possible to prevent any further issues that close to the "event".
That October was a particularly stressful month. I was 6 months pregnant with our youngest son, there were some unusually ugly financial issues that were out of our control, two older sons (ages 5 and just 4)who had to be convinced that their father wasn't going to die, it wasn't necessarily the most relaxing environment for him to recover in. But, we did the best we could with what we had, and actually, by the end of the month things were relatively back to normal. WonderHubby had gone back to work, things were going fairly smoothly, all things considered.
Until...
October 29th we decide we're going to do the Jack-O-Lantern with the boys. Again, trying to get things back to normal, we'd gone to a local farm, hand picked our glorious pumpkin, brought it home. The boys were PROUD of this pumpkin. It was a perfect orange color. There weren't any flaws on it anywhere that you could see. I mean, this was the *perfect* Halloween Jack-O-Lantern pumpkin, and the boys couldn't wait to get their hands on it and create their masterpiece of pumpkinry.
So, WonderHubby takes the boys out onto the porch with the newspapers and spreads them out. They carefully place their spectacular pumpkin in the middle of the papers, drew the circle on the top where it needed to be cut and WonderHubby walks out onto the porch brandishing....the implement of distruction...the 12" butcher knife. Now, my maternal instinct has kicked in and I'm busy trying to keep the boys back away from him and reminding him of the "knife circle" that I learned a bazillion years ago in Girl Scouts. He's assuring me in a calm voice that he knows full well how to handle a knife and I start to relax....a little. But, I kept watching him anyway, because, well, that's just what Moms do.
He had the boy's complete attention. They were mesmerized by the huge blade of the knife. WonderHubby was explaining in detail how sharp the knife was and how they couldn't touch a knife unless one of us was with them. The normal "good parent" knife speech. Then he put the tip of the blade to the orange flesh of the pumpkin, rested his hand on the pumpkin itself and said, "You have to be very careful...."
Now, while he's setting himself up, it's running through my head in slow motion that he's got his left hand in the way of the blade and when he pulls up he's going to cut himself. BUT, I don't have time to say anything SO, as he's saying the word "careful", he sliced not only the pumpkin, but the skin between his forefinger and his thumb. He wanted to curse SO bad but had these two LITTLE boys staring at him with HUGE eyes and he couldn't, and I ran for a towel, and his hand started to bleed.
And bleed...and bleed...and bleed. Did I mention the part where they keep him on that blood thinner for a month and it keeps the blood from coagulating??? He'd had the "event" on October 4th, this was only October 29th, it hadn't been a month yet. He was still taking that medication. We tried direct pressure, we tried elevation, we tried pressure point, it wouldn't stop bleeding. It wasn't big enough for a tourniquet. After each solution failed, I'd say, "I think maybe we need to go to the hospital, you may need stitches." He'd growl "NO, I'm NOT going to the hospital for the second time this MONTH!" at me. Finally, when we got to the tourniquet point I looked at him and said, "We're going to the hospital."
What I haven't said at this point is that I'm cracking up through this. The madder he's getting, the more I'm laughing. Who the HELL has a pumpkin accident??? WonderHubby. By the time he finally agreed to go to the hospital, he was FURIOUS, and I was hysterical. I kept apologizing but he didn't want to hear it, which just made it worse for me. I couldn't help it. That inappropriate laughter thingy that I have was going at full tilt.
We get to the hospital and the triage nurse asks him what he's there for and he says, "Because I'm an idiot." I lose it, the nurse laughs. She settles down and asks him again. Remember he's mad. She asks again why he's there, his response was, "Because a pumpkin bit me." I lose it again, the nurse loses it and a couple of other people behind the desk start laughing too. He's not laughing. Finally we all settle down and she gets him to tell her what happened and we're all trying not to laugh. Needless to say, the pumpkin injury wasn't the most critical in the ER that evening so we had to wait a little while.
Finally they get to us, and he has to explain this AGAIN to the doctor. I can't live through this again. I'm laughing as the doctor is asking the question. So is one of the nurses who happens to be walking by. WonderHubby is GLARING at me while he tells the doctor what happened (he left out the pumpkin biting part for the doctor). He needed about 8 stitches and we got to leave.
I think the relief of having to be at the ER for something that I KNEW wasn't going to kill him was what was making me laugh so hard. Being there for something routine instead of something life-threatening makes a world of difference. I'll take stitches any day.
But, there hasn't been a Halloween since that I don't hand him oven mitts or work gloves before I give him the butcher knife to cut the Jack-O-Lantern. Being the perfect straight man he'll tell me something like, "The pumpkin's already eaten tonight, but thanks anyway."
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