Have you ever tried to have a three and a half-year old help you out with a problem? If so then I’m sure you are aware of the endless possibilities for assistance. You’re quite aware of the limitations that the situation entails as well. All in all if you’re desperate enough to seek help, but realistic enough to know that if help comes at all, it won’t be how you expected.
Such was the case yesterday when I found myself in times of trouble. A normal day like any other; milk spilled in the fridge and dripping from shelf to shelf while in the process of making pancakes, power on and off again while trying to wash clothes, youngest insisting on helping with the washing and while doing so walked on the clean clothes with his muddy shoes (we wash clothes outside), massive meltdown by two lads (apparently one wanted to cook the play food for 14 minutes while the other only wanted ten minutes: creative differences), and a myriad of other things. So the morning was moving along as usual when I thought I should try to be one of those super parents. You know the kind that can juggle everything while sipping a cup of coffee between balancing the boys and the laundry all while progressing on their blog. I have suspected that “these people” are fictitious but I can only speculate. There appears to be electronic evidential support for their existence but I can’t say that I have actually met anyone with these characteristics yet. Regardless of the evidence they provide multi-tasking goals and lofty aspirations.
In any event the morning was moving along and I thought I would try to experience what these super people experience so while the boys were mangling the bushes with their stick machetes, I poured a cup of coffee, long since gone cold from what I have always deemed a “normal” consequence of living with toddlers, and sat down at the laptop. Leaning back into the chair I felt an incredibly intense pain stabbing my back. Almost instantaneously, as a fire swept over my back, I leapt up doing everything in my power not to dump the coffee on the keyboard, and danced around to see what bit me. Everything bites in Africa. On the back of the chair I saw a highly irritated, and very confused, wasp.
With the laptop and coffee both secure, back on fire, and adrenaline pumping, the wasp saw no charity as it was pulverized into past tense. I’m not particularly fond of charity for creepy crawlies anyway, but this one experienced a bit of revenge as well. I don’t feel that this type of action was necessarily out of hand given the size and structure of the creature. If you’ve been in Kenya then you’ve no doubt seen these flying relics of the dinosaur era. It’s not so much the size as their pre-historic look. The pterodactyl has nothing on these winged atrocities.
After the brief archaeological excavation, and failure to locate the stinger, logic suggested that it might still be lodged in my back. After-all there was a crippling pain coming from the small of my back enticing salty water to squeeze out of my eyes. The mirror showed a marching red circle moving out in military formation as the poison spread in unison. It’s hard to tell when the wound is in the small of your back but I was sure I saw shrapnel. After a brief analysis I thought a photo was in order. Then I could zoom in to see if the stinger was still there. It would also tell the story of my demise when my wife came home at the end of the day. Three attempts later I deemed the project inconclusive. While the pain increased I conceded to my last known option and called out…”Benjamin.”
I won’t bore you with all of the details but you can use your imagination. Needless to say a three and a half-year old jabbing at your back with a pair of tweezers is not as much fun as you might think. Still convinced the source of my pain was lodged in my back, and now with multiple lacerations and gashes all around the epicenter, we moved on. An interesting fact: when given a small weapon children can be remarkably fast, especially when their curiosity aligns with tweezers and chest-hair. I also figured my son of the right hand probably rammed the stinger into my back with no hope of retrieving the projectile. Besides, Benjamin wanted to get back to playing and Michael just thought the whole thing was a joke.
Knowing that the laundry needed finishing, house needed cleaning, the boys needed to eat, and wondering what those super multi-tasking parents would do in this situation, the show continued. Pain or no pain, can’t let the paramedics see a messy house when they take me away. I’m not sure whether it was my idea or I was so desperate I took the idea from the boys but somehow it seemed that a little sunshine might help in my weakened state of being.
What I’ve learned from this a day later with the poison gone, yet sporting a painful sunburn on my back, is that I think I should quit comparing myself to others and focus on being the “normal” parent I was created to be.
Multi-tasking on a good day.
nehrely there 