Listen. All children get injured every now and then, whether due to clumsiness, overestimation of one’s ability to do shit like swing from monkey bars, or just plain bad luck. It doesn’t matter if the kid is Tarzan incarnate or the meekest little rule follower known to man — blood shall be shed. I was the most cautious child on the planet and I still managed to nearly slice my finger off in an ill-fated attempt to microwave a frozen dinner1, so trust me on this one.
In most cases, there’s really no one to blame for these injuries. As parents, we may bear a little bit of responsibility in some cases if our lack of diligent oversight contributed to the scrape, bruise, split chin courtesy of a glass coffee table2, or broken elbow caused by driving an electric scooter over a pile of slippery leaves3, but in general, we all know this shit happens with kids and it’s nothing to feel guilty about.
Unless, of course, said injury was directly caused by you not just permitting but endorsing, encouraging, and facilitating dangerous activities. In that case, you should definitely feel bad.
For instance, I felt quite bad when I let Ryan, then 6 years old and categorically not qualified for the job at hand, participate in the demolition of our fireplace during a remodel. Was he wielding a giant sledgehammer to smash heavy ceramic tiles? Yes. Was he wearing protective gear, or even, say, shoes? No, he most certainly was not, and the scar that remains visible on his arm to this day tells the tale of what happens when chunks of ceramic go flying through the air at high velocity.
Do I get any points for making him wear googles, at least?
Then there was the time I decided I was some kind of scientist and procured some dry ice for us to experiment with, an activity I knew was potentially dangerous and thus implemented stringent safety precautions including a “no one but Mom handles the dry ice” rule. Man, I’m smart! Or I was, until I left the open bag of dry ice on the floor and Graffin had the misfortune to slip nearby it and extend his bare hand right onto it in an attempt to break his fall. Or the day I set up a fun “foam painting” activity that utilized an incredibly slippery amalgamation of shaving cream and glue, then watched and laughed heartily as the activity devolved into my children coating themselves and the garage floor with the mixture, in essence creating a filthy pseudo ice rink in which to glide around. Why was I surprised when they inevitably fell…repeatedly…and sustained a number of colorful bruises?
WHAT IS WRONG WITH ME?!
Believe it or not, these alarming manifestations of my abject ineptitude probably wouldn’t even rate a mention on a list of my most egregious offenses (sidenote: please don’t actually make a list of my failures). No, the top spots are all reserved for the myriad disasters that have occured in service of these nutcases’ most beloved pastime, Destroying Old Electronics. As the name suggests, this activity involves Destroying Old Electronics: ancient laptops, broken stereos, and obsolete cellphones are no match for my children’s insatiable desire to determine how many horrifying methods of destruction a poor innocent technological relic can withstand. COMPLETELY HARMLESS GOOD TIMES! Just kidding, it’s a disaster waiting to happen every time but they’ll spend literal hours destroying one $5 garage sale piece of junk and so it is my favorite of all of their hobbies.
Recently, Ryan discovered the joys of eBay shopping and found that for just a few chores’ worth of handouts from ol’ Mom over here, he could afford an outdated but operable smartphone. This is the crown jewel of Shit to Destroy, as the fact that it still works means the kids can validate the effects of their destruction attempts as the melee ensues (this is all very scientific, clearly). The downside, of course, is that working phones contain a little something called a lithium ion battery — ever heard of it? Oh, you have? And I suppose if you were in my position, you totally would have acknowledged the existence of said battery, and perhaps even recalled all those news stories from a couple years back exposing smartphone batteries expanding and catching fire? And there’s NO CHANCE that would have just slipped your mind entirely and you would have signed off on letting small children hack away at said smartphone with the express intent of damaging it as much as possible, with little to no supervision whatsoever?
Get off your high horse. This could happen to anyone:
He’s fine, guys. Everything’s fine. A couple very minor burns, some PTSD, perhaps an ecological disaster of some kind…no big deal.
Why do I keep letting these things happen?! Is it because I’m a “Yes Mom,” stubbornly bound by some bizarre internal pledge to say yes to as many requests as humanly possible? Am I just an idiot who lacks foresight? Do I get swept up in the moment and develop selective blindness to danger, seeing only fun and excitement? Am I so desperate to occupy these people that I let all common sense fly out the window?
Let’s not analyze it. See you in the ER!
(After I finish my dry ice White Claw.)
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Footnotes:
1Lean Cuisine should be sued for making their cardboard packaging so impenetrable I had to bust out a boxcutter to make any headway.
2Graffin
3Ryan
The Baby Is Fine 