Monday, July 13, 2009

Stick out your tongue

Turns out the movie Ice Age gave Dax the idea to stick his tongue inside the freezer.

Note the chocolate on his face revealing that at this point, he can eat, drink and talk about the incident.

I'm still cringing even as I marvel at the body's ability to heal.

Sunday, July 12, 2009

Right off the tip of his tongue

If you ask an 8-year-old why he stuck his tongue in the freezer, don't expect a rational explanation.

"Where did you get that idea?"

"I don't know," he says.

Was he trying to cool off in this 100 degree heat?

And then you think about the bazillion ways boys have of exploring their world.

We don't know how long Dax cried for help before deciding he had to break away, and running in the back door with his tongue bleeding, I was the first to meet this crisis.

After lapping running water for five minutes, a cold rag and Tylenol soothed the tip of his tongue. Oowie.

Anticipating possible dangers challenges the most vigilant parents who wish they could run interference between their offspring and everything that threatens their safety.

Remarkably, Dax had an appointment with the pedodontist this morning who said that it would take two weeks for his tongue to fully heal. Like a bad burn.

So controlling the tongue, I'm reminded, includes not only what we say but where we place this tiny muscle known for its strength.

Tuesday, July 7, 2009

No Small Feat

Forget the move to Lubbock 8 days ago that demanded of me grit and sweat and long day’s journeys into night. Yesterday a trip to the shoe store to shod the youngest 3 of my daughter’s 4 kids made me think that branding cattle might come easy.

Rope and tie down one boy long enough to slap one foot on the measuring device—there’s one at the ready for right or left foot. Grab a pair of new socks from the display, lace and tie up one foot on the slowest boy, cut that kid loose to hobble around the store to investigate every item within reach of a person 35 inches tall while the other two take a turn choosing or being convinced they like the style they will go home wearing, mother bent at the waist to assist the poor sales person who has to pretend she enjoys her job, and I with my camera capturing chaos. Ta-dah.

So many shoes and so little time. Stickers and a quarter dropped in a gumball machine got us out the door. I can only imagine the calm after our fury.

“Handsome shoes,” one of the twins said as he lifted his foot so I would take a picture. Then he said, as he always does, "See it. See it," waiting for me to show him the viewer.

The feet are small but growing, each step into the next size appears enormous at the time, and the challenge of keeping feet confined to shoes in summer seems futile.

But for a day, every kid wearing a new pair of tennis shoes feels more like Cinderella than a cow branded or a horse shod, and that is no small feat.