Today we had a little of recurring hypochondria du Grace. She has been in good shape lately, staying in class, working through the little things during her day. And then, we’re back. The nurse’s office call of doom came at lunch. (And before the call it was a really GOOD lunch, too – spicy tuna bowl with crunchy cukes on the side…)
Today’s issue – you know, the one that was so bad she had to keep leaving class and whining and going to the nurse until her teacher couldn’t take it anymore and banished her to the office to call me? Over flossing. Yep – that’s right, in the middle of my Monday morning office crazy short staff stress, Grace needs to come home because she overflossed yesterday, and her tooth is “stinging”. (NOTE: She is getting creative, the last call was her stomach “burning”.) Unfortunately, I didn’t take it very well, quite possible as a reaction to my own selfish stress level, and my deep despondency at having to shove the rest of my fantastic lunch down feeling like mother of the year all the while for being mad at my kid for having a sore tooth.
When we got home, I asked her offhandedly “Have you ever heard the story of the boy who cried wolf?” After a short pause, she whined, “WAIT, I know why you are asking that!” followed by a fairly accurate description of my lack of sympathy for her condition. So then I asked if she knew the story about when I last told the story about the boy who cried wolf. She didn’t.
Circa 2004, both girls in the tub, and Andra doing the fake cry from the tub. I went quickly in to make sure they were all ok (back when I cared more, I guess), and then when I got the happy laugh after the fake cry, I asked the same fated question. About the wolf. And the boy. And when I smugly finished the story, Andra looked up, with gleaming eyes and I thought, “There. Those old stories really do work. She understands.”
And she said, “Oh yeah? I have a story too. There was a guy once, and he was supposed to do a job, and he didn’t do the job and he DIED.”
Its almost not even worth trying.
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