Annals Of Extremely Bad Mothering & Tough Little Girls

When we wish to skewer my mother, we remind her of the time she told my little sister to "be tough" and left her crying on the couch for hours before the thought dawned that my at the time 9-yr-old sister was usually not such a cry-baby and something might indeed be wrong. Broken tibia.

Well, I spent the afternoon in the "urgent care" center getting Girl Weed's wrist x-rayed. The classic fall-from-the-monkey-bars injury --the Colles fracture. That wouldn't be so bad, except that she did it a week ago and we've been treating it as a sprain. In my defense, it looked neither bruised nor swollen and she could grip a pencil. And she never cried. Hardly heard a peep out of her except when I re-wrapped her Ace bandage at night. If the arm hadn't finally swollen up like a wood tick, I'd never have thought anything of it.

Of course this dear, sweet, precious, perfect, good little child will be getting pretty much anything she wants from her guilt-ridden mother for the next few days. But no one can say I'm raising whiners.