Hard Headed Catastrophes

Yesterday, I received a call from a number that makes a mother’s blood run cold and sweat bead on the forehead, just by looking at the number.  It was the dreaded Elementary School.  Nothing good comes from a phone call in the middle of the day from an elementary school.  I’ve determined that it either means your child is misbehaving, to the point that they are uncontrollable, or they are dying.  See, nothing good.  Imagine what was running through my mind yesterday as I reached for the phone….Nigel, lying in a pool of his own blood, body broken and awkwardly positioned on the playground, playground duty volunteers meandering slowly as they debate whether or not to call me…he generally doesn’t act out at school.  I was pretty upset when I heard the school secretary tell me that he had bumped his head and needed to go home, because you can’t be too careful with head wounds.

Head wounds.  Really?  I’m pretty calm usually when it comes to the catastrophes that involve Nigel.  I didn’t freak out when at 8 months old he crawled around, found a can of oil based, rust resistant black paint, opened it and played in it; nor did I freak out when at age three he climbed to the top of my refrigerator, using the handles and leverage, although I was shaking and crying inside.   I was nervous driving to the school, but figured that they were exaggerating the problem, much like they have done in the past.  Isn’t that a bit contradictory to my statement about reasons they call?  Welcome to my Elementary School.  Yeah, they are like that.

Picking up Nigel from school was a shock.  My child was deformed.  He had a goose egg about the size of a golf ball protruding from the left side of his forehead.  He was quite and subdued, another worrisome sign.  We went home, iced the bump and watched cartoon movies all afternoon.  I could tell his head hurt, because he didn’t mind taking some pain medicine and he was happy to lie on the couch and vegetate to the sounds of Peter Pan and Toy Story 2.

Here comes the shocker, literally.  So I decided to be a good mommy and bake cookies.  The boy needed a treat for being so brave.  While I was doing that, Nigel ventured into his room to play.  The pain medication was working and he was ready for some Lego time.  A few minutes later, he came into the kitchen, shaking like a leaf.  The kid had decided to do a little arc welding with the nightlight, his sister’s metal bracelet and the wall socket.  Yeah, that went over really well.  He was certain that he hadn’t been shocked, but did admit to being “bitten” while doing this.  Yep, he tripped the circuit and I am now certain the kid has a death wish.  First a good bump on the noggin and then a little electrical shock treatment.  Really….I’m not sure my heart can take all the mommy-stress.

So, my kid is one of cutest things I’ve ever seen.  He can snuggle and kiss me, make me laugh my hind end off, say the darndest things, and still give me heart palpitations.  He brings an enormous amount of hilarity and love to my life, and now I wish I had a picture, much like the black paint, to blackmail him with when he turns 18…because really, isn’t that what a mother lives for?  The chance to get even for all the heart attacks her son causes?  It’s the only thing that is getting me through this particular incident!
*Thanks to Google for the image*