Ouchie

We had one of those All-American sort of Sundays.  We slept in a bit, Frank napped on the couch, I vacuumed and washed the floors.  (And color me surprised that Murphy’s Oil Soap has gotten the tile floor in my kitchen more clean than any other cleaner I’ve used on it since we’ve lived here.)  Then we went to a local park and had a BBQ/picnic for dinner, I walked a nature trail with the kids while Frank did some studying, we all played on the playground for a bit, then when we got home I decided to make Rice Krispies treat with Lane to top it all off.

It was all going great until an errant Rice Krispie fell onto the stovetop and Lane tried to pick it up… burning two of her fingers in the process.  😦  I realized what she was doing and grabbed and pulled her hand away before it could have been much worse, thankfully.  But I’m still disappointed that I let it happen at all.  😦  I was right there!  Oh well.  It could have been much worse, and it wasn’t.

They’re not bad.  Her index finger has a blister just a bit bigger than the size of a pencil eraser, and her middle finger has one a bit smaller than a pencil eraser.  Oh man, did she cry.  She’s not exactly a child of reasonably-scaled reactions to things (to call her intense is unjust to the word “intense”) so this smallish boo-boo sent her off the deep end.  The wailing went on for at least 20 minutes, followed by sniffling and recurring bouts of tears for 20 minutes after that.  It wasn’t for at least an hour that I managed to get a smile out of her.  We did all the requisite first aid for a second degree burn — cold running water for as long as I could get her to keep her fingers in the bathroom sink, then sitting on the couch watching a baseball game with her fingers in a cup of cold water after that.  (See, baseball!  Even an All-American distraction for my little girl!)

So now she’s in bed, fingers intact.  My heart has mostly recovered.  And hopefully our upstairs neighbor hasn’t called Child & Family Services on us.

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2 responses to “Ouchie

  1. Aww, the poor dear.

    I would be a traumatized Mama too.

  2. When Emily was 3, she grabbed a hold of the wrong end of a lit sparkler, right in front of me, before I could stop her – same inevitable Mommy-guilt, even though we all know there’s really no way to have prevented it, short of keeping the children in cardboard boxes all the time.

    Poor kiddo, and poor mama.

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