Ima 2 Eight

I recently posted on facebook the following: “Nobody warned me that being a drama queen was an inheritable trait.”

One of the children that prompted that statement (I have at least a few drama kings and queens) twisted his ankle on a jungle gym at school. It would appear that he either will never walk again, or has to be rushed to an emergency room (maybe several) and clearly cannot help himself to anything, unless he wants it, and then hopping seems to work just fine. It isn’t broken.

I thought I would make a brilliant move and borrow crutches. Everyone knows that crutches are tiring, and hurt, and really aren’t much fun. In fact, the person we borrowed them from, who had suffered a more significant injury, stopped using them after day one or two, because they were such a “pain”.

So, instead of telling said child that they are full of baloney, and to stop whining and start moving, I got the crutches. Sure that this would result in a miraculous recovery, and a return to our relative state of sanity.

I got it wrong. He LOVES the crutches… and still is maintaining that he may just never walk again. He told me excitedly how the whole school was talking to and about him. There are many people in this house who apparently have yet to grow tired of fetching everything for him.

Do I let it play itself out? Do I drag him (and that means the baby ) to the dr. so a trained professional can tell him he is fine?

For now, I plan to take the approach my dear husband and I adopt the most:

“This too shall pass….”