There's an old saying when you are a child of the Seventies:
"If you fall off there and break your leg, don't come running to me!"
I may have taken
my harsh form of parenting one step too far back in 2006 on a day trip out to Blackpool:
"Your arm is sore? Oh, stop moaning. It's not hanging off, is it? We'll go and get an ice cream."
The older two had been known to encourage the dare-devil younger child to participate in rather extreme antics in the past. This time it involved them both throwing themselves, in unison, onto one side of the see-saw whilst he hung onto the other side of the see-saw. Rocket launching a 7 year old is fun, right? I heard yelling and shouting and the three of them came back over to where I was sat with a couple of friends. Two of them were rather sheepish and one was holding his arm.
What's up with your arm, Jake?
*he points* They threw me off the see-saw. My arm hurts.
*two other children interject* He asked us to do it, Mum!
*knowing that he regularly played the victim* Your arm is sore? Oh, stop moaning. We'll go and get an ice cream. Oh, look... some trampolines. Do you want a go on those? I'm sure that'll make your arm better.
So I paid for him to go on the trampolines and then bought some ice creams. We sat on the park chatting to my friends with the children run around a bit. We continued with our picnic and all was well again. We even took a trip down to the beach for a bit of a paddle. Lets just have a quick look at the day in picture form:
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| aaawww look at him bouncing around on the trampoline |
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| A quick family shot whilst walking round the lake |
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| Knee deep in sewerage under Central Pier, Blackpool. |
We drove home, slightly sun-kissed, a little tired but generally happy, especially after winning about £8.42 in two-pence pieces in the arcades on the way back to the car park. We bought fish and chips for tea. Once we got home, I started to get ready for an evening of bingo, whilst recounting the events of the day to my husband.
I went to bingo with my husband, had a few pints but I didn't win any money. I returned home and sitting on the sofa was a seven year-old boy who should have been in bed. It was now about 10.30pm
Why aren't you in bed?
My arm hurts and I can't lift it up to get my pyjama top on. It's hurting at my elbow now.
Kev, come and have a look at his arm.
Frigging nora, Nic, look at it! It's all twisted. You're going to have to take him to the hospital.
I rang a taxi and trundled up to the local A&E department, scoffing mints during the journey to ensure that my breath didn't stink of lager. Whilst sat in the waiting room, now completely sober, I thought back to the events of the day. Shall we re-examine the pictures?
- Picture 1: Is he holding his arm?
- Picture 2: Again, supporting his arm?
- Picture 3: Does his left arm look a little bit twisted?
We got home from the hospital at around 3.40am. Yes, it was broken at the elbow. I am still guilt-stricken to this day but I bet you can't beat that one. Bad Mother stripes? Bring it on!
