Last night after I had put Sam to bed I was walking down our hallway to our bedroom to get a load of laundry just to find him cowering in his bathroom. When I asked him what was wrong he shyly showed me a bleeding finger. Now I'm thinking...how could a child that was supposed to be in bed have a bleeding finger. I was soon to find out that he was not in bed as I had thought. He had gone into his bathroom, found his daddy's razor and was examining it. The razor popped off and Sam proceeded to try to put it back on. Therefore his cut finger.
I was proud of myself as I didn't get mad. I remember a time where I had cut my finger on a razor as a child and had that same feeling of how much it hurt vs how much trouble am I going to get into. Don't even know if my parents remember it or not. I even told Sam about it and that I understood his feelings at the moment. I put pressure on the bleeding finger for 2 minutes (first-aid training pays off) and stopped the bleeding. Then out came the medicine and band aids. After I was finished playing doctor I asked him if he was ever going to play with the razors again. He firmly said, "No, I'm not".
Once he was back into his bed he called out to me one more time. I went to his room to have him tell me that it not only was throbbing but that it stung like a hornet. Now he has never been stung by a hornet so I don't know where he got that but it sure made sense to me.
Fast forward to this afternoon....
I'm actually sitting out here in the screened in porch (loving the weather) watching Sam play in the back yard. Sam has a great imagination. He has turned his tire swing into a space ship. It has a stick with the lid of a metal trash can on the end of it, vines to camouflage him, and a broom to steer with. I wish I had moved quick enough to get a picture of this but alas his imagination has moved him on to other things. Now his tire swing has been turned into a tornado contraption. In other words he has wound it up so tight that it would make one sick spinning around on it. He has it anchored with a step stool so that he can get up onto it and await for me to swing him while he spins.
So I guess I better finish this up and go play with my son.
Oh to be a child again.