Do you ever find yourself saying stuff you just can’t believe you have to say? Things like “please stop giving scissors to your baby sister to play with” or “no, we don’t drink bleach because it is not meant for children”. Mama sometimes has to verbalize the completely obvious.
Would you believe that I recently had to provide instruction that children are not allowed to play with dead animals?
When we were in the hospital last weekend, my son was a bit of a medical mystery because of his unusual collection of symptoms. Being a medical mystery is actually great news because it means you are put in a private room where peace and quiet reigns. It was luxury living and a quick reminder as to why I keep having babies – my hospital stay is the best holiday I ever get!
Just as my request for a meeting with “Dr. House” was turned down, they figured out my son picked up a strange parasite. Just the word parasite reminds me that my life is destined to never have any glamour attached to it. What they were able to assess was that it was not your garden variety E-coli or Guardia. I don’t actually have a whole lot of parasite experience, unless you count pregnancy. I think it’s fair to say fetuses fall within the parasite family.
After some conversations with daddy-o, I was able to shed some light on the subject. While away at his grandparents’ farm, my son took up a project. Nothing makes me happier than a kid picking up a project during summer holidays. His project was a museum he set up in one of the barns. Each object was beautifully labeled and described. Sounds lovely, right? But this is where it ALL goes horribly wrong. He had created a museum of sheep bones.
Every day he walked the farm fields in search of decaying sheep. He would collect, wash and display the bones with great pride. He was resourceful enough to enlist the help of Sox, the trusty farm dog to go with him. Sox would have the duty of eating any remaining flesh or wool off the less-decayed sheep before my son would collect the bones. That can only be described as teamwork gone wrong.
So, I may not be Dr. House, but I’m thinking I may have cracked the case of the mysterious parasite!
I’m now going to include another instruction for my son’s “411 Wristbands” when he is not under my watch and I’m not there to state the obvious. Next time he is heading off to the farm, I will have printed beside his name: “please don’t allow me to play with sheep carcases!”
(The picture is of my son with some lambs. In a few years, they’ll contribute nicely to the museum!)
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Ewwww. I remember when he and I made a journal of our visit to the farm. One page had a pile of flies taped to it (to commemorate the abundance of them in Aus. I guess collecting sheep bones was a logical progression. LOL.
dead flies, dead sheep….the glamour never ends!
You have an amazing sense of humour! Hehehe … “welcome to my museum of death!”
(sometimes, I’ve had a bone to pick with the family dog too, but I can’t say that I’ve taken it to the same extreme.)
Now, how will this affect the night-time tuck-in’s? I’m thinking that the time honoured advice, to simply count sheep when one is not sleepy, will no longer conjure up calm and soothing mental images to fall asleep by?
Best wishes to the young bone collector – hope he’s feeling better!
the bone collector! I love it! OK, his blog name has now officially changed from Number One Son, to the Bone Collector!
He is feeling better….tho, they are still trying to figure out what parasite he was dealing with. Moot at this point, me thinks!
great story julie, about a not so great happening!