Saddle Sore

Miss9 walked towards the car looking like she was straight out of a western comedy: like a cowgirl with saddle sores.

“Mummy, it hurrrrrts,” she told Tracey.

“Why didn’t you get the office to call us?” Tracey wanted to know.

“Because you and daddy don’t like it when I do that.”

That’s true. But mainly because most the time we get the kids home and you wouldn’t know there was a thing wrong with them. Want to know the best cure for kiddy flu? The family sedan, heading away from their classrooms.

The reason our daughter is doing a John Wayne impersonation is last night she slipped while performing some shenanigans on the beds, landed with a leg on either side of the bedhead tube and effectively nutted herself. And yes, I know that’s not the right word but I can’t think of how to put the female equivalent into print without offending just about everyone.

“I didn’t even know it hurt girls,” I confessed to Tracey.

“Are you kidding?’ she wanted to know. I told her I was.

Tonight I was charged with feeding, bathing and settling the kids into bed while Tracey worked. At bedtime I had a rough time getting Miss9 to settle because she was in a pain.

Throughout the evening she’d walked about, her hands rarely leaving her crotch area. I was oddly reminded of when I was at high school and all us blokes would stand around watching football, cheering our mates on and keeping our hands warm by shoving them down our tracksuit pants. Our own tracksuit pants. It was an all boys school and it was cold – we didn’t care how it looked.

When Tracey finally finished her work tonight and checked up on the kids they were all asleep, including our wounded little cowgirl.

“What time did you give her the Panadol?” Tracey wanted to know. “So I know when I can give her another lot.”

“Ohhhh,” I said nervously, “I think you can pretty much give them to her whenever you like.”

Painkillers. Right. Got it. Next time, for sure.

Despite my lapse, I do know what it feels like to have my nethers given a nudge. When I was in playing lunchtime soccer at Broadbeach Primary School I must have misunderstood what ‘heading the ball’ meant because I ended up vomiting and being taken to the office for an ice pack after one particularly nasty incident which, it turns out, caused me a thrombosed artery in one of my baby makers.

Mind you, I didn’t ask to be sent home either so I guess she gets this fear of calling in her frowny parents from me.

When not typing away over here and checking his stats every two minutes,

Bruce Devereaux hangs out at his ‘BIG FAMILY little income’  Facebook Page.

 ’raising a family on little more than laughs’

 

 

3 Comments

    • We also eat risotto out of plastic cups, regardless of whether the bowls are clean or dirty 🙂 Thanks for commenting Wendy. And not pointing the finger – makes us feel normal too lol

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