Yesterday I was having a twittersation with Ezmomm regarding cleaning products. She mentioned to me that she hates the smell of pine cleaners because it reminds her of the times when she was sick as a youngster and her mother would place a puke bucket next to her bed with Pine Sol at the bottom. I totally related to this as my mother and father did the same thing! It is funny how things happen because today that conversation topic partially played out in my house.
Today started out on a good note, I got to sleep until 7:30 so I was happy about that. I got out of bed and immediately went for the coffee and while I drank my beverage of life, the wife and I discussed the schedule for the day. The plan for me was to get a haircut (never happened), take Nicky to the store to by shin guards, cook chili and watch football. The wife was to take Nicky to his first soccer game then come home and do some laundry. Well it didn’t go down that way. After a little while we notice that our youngest isn’t feeling well. He was cranky and looked a little pale but all of my kids are pale so we didn’t pay it much attention. I ran to the store with Nicky and as soon I came home he was off to his soccer game. When the wife and Nicky walked in the door, I knew something was wrong because he was crying (aren’t I the brilliant and intuitive father?). My wife walks in behind him and said that he just threw up in the van. NICE! So I went outside with my father-in-law to clean the van.
By the time I cleaned the van seat and came back inside, Corey and Jordan were awake. Nicky was lying on the couch and the wife had placed a bucket on the floor next to him (minus the Pine Sol). That is when it all hit me! I started to think of all of the crazy things that my parents did when my brothers and I were sick or hurt. Most of it involves my mother but my father was good for one every now and again. I reflect back.
Don't worry Mom has a cream for that!
My first random memory occurs when I was maybe 6 or 7. We lived in Florida and like every other kid, I fell into a Fire Ant mound. I was covered in ants. My father and uncle heard me screaming and ran out. They picked me up and threw me in the shower. My mother didn’t think it was anything to worry about and she patted me down with calamine lotion but my body had little red bumps and I puffed up like the “Stay Puffed Marshmellow Man”. My father had the wits to take me to the emergency clinic and/or hospital and after a shot or two I turned out ok.
I also remember being 8 years old or so and I fell off of my bike. It didn’t hurt but you can see the bone pushing up under the skin. I walked home holding my arm and saw my mother outside as she was going shopping. I told her that I broke my arm and she asked me to move my fingers.
Move your fingers Mike!
I moved my fingers (remember it was my arm that was broken and not all of my fingers) and she told me to go inside to my father because it wasn’t broken but he can put ice on it. I did what she said and went inside. One look and my father knew it was broken but we had to wait hours before she came home so I can be taken to the hospital.
A couple of years later, I ran into a metal gate and split my forehead open. I had blood running down my face and ran home screaming. I smashed open the door just yelling for my father. I remember my mother in the background somewhere yelling “Oh oh oh oh is he ok? Oh oh oh” while my father tried to assess the damage to my head. I wouldn’t let him see it and I was screaming. He smacked me across the face and told me to calm down. I did and he took me to the hospital for my 40 or so stitches.
There was another time when my brother Marc was around 11 or 12; I think he also fell of his bike and broke his ankle or something. He hobbled into the house and his foot was the size of a football and purple in color. My older brother and I immediately knew it was broken but my mother didn’t agree. She asked Marc to move his toes and he did. Her reply….”If you can move your toes, it isn’t broken”. We tried to convince her to take him to the hospital but she didn’t see the need. A few hours later my father came home and took the poor kid to the hospital.
OOOUCH!
The best story involves my older brother Eddie. He was around 16 and had the entire attic to himself as his bedroom. He was experiencing severe pains in his balls and they swelled up like grapefruits. The story goes (I was sleeping in the other room and had no idea of what was happening) that he crawled down the stairs and went into my parents bedroom. Since my mother was the closest to the door, he approached her with his swollen balls in hand. She rolled over and looked at him, as he was in tears telling her how much it hurt, and told him that he had a stomach ache and he would be fine. He made his way back to his room only to return later to wake up my father. My father immediately ran my brother to the hospital and he had emergency surgery to save his balls. Apparently it is a fairly common thing when a young man’s balls twist up like “Click Clacks” and the doctors knew exactly what they had to do.
I know there is more but these just came to mind quickly. It is truly amazing as I am sure I will do similar things to my kids. Sometimes you just get so numb of the crying and whining that you overlook something potentially serious. At least it provides me with blog content today!
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