Thursday, July 12, 2007

a sliver, a shiver, a scream

G-girl came home complaining about her foot. She had a huuuuge sliver in her heel. She barely would let me even look at it, and when I held her foot to see it, she shook like a leaf.

"No, Mom. Don't touch it!"

"Just let me SEE it! Oh, yeah, I think we can get that out."

"Aauuuggghh! No, I don't want it to hurt!"

I tried to find my tweezers, but eventually I figured out they were in one of those mysterious safe places (black holes) that I seem to have so many of. So I found a long pin instead.

"A needle? Oh, no!"

"How about a scalpel, then?"

The scream was piercing.

"It won't hurt. I promise."

I picked up her foot.

"Ow, ow!" She tried to curl her leg up into a ball.

"I haven't touched it yet."

"Oh."

Yeah. Hadn't touched the sliver yet, not even with my finger, and you'd think someone had found a whole nest of giant tarantulas or something.

Deja vu. My dad used to take slivers out of my feet, and he got the same reaction out of me as I did out of G-girl. I picked up her foot again.

"No, no! I changed my mind. Just leave it there."

Well, I finally gently poked and picked at it for a while, but couldn't get it all out without it hurting. We ended up soaking it. She fell asleep with her foot in the water. When I woke her up, she kept saying, "No. I just wanna be dennis. Mom, no. I just mmm mmmm be dennis." I'm thinking, "Dennis??! What in the world?" But I finally figured out she was saying, "I want to be done with this." I took the water away, and she was out for the count.

She picked it out of her foot herself in the morning. She showed me her trophy later that day. Safely sealed in a clear plastic baggie, there was the source of her trouble: a black skewer of wood.

All's well that ends well, at least as far as slivers go.

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