That amazing feeling of being loved
I hurried back in to the house herding snowsuit-clad, stumbling children ahead of me, arms laden with plastic shopping bags it was too cold to face going back out to the car for a second time. Using my feet and teeth I managed to open the door whilst the children watched on, passive, only spectators in this foreign world of opening the fucking door for yourself.
It was too much to imagine I guess, to much to hope for that I would make it in safely. My foot found a wet patch of tiled floor, the world tilted and slid slowly to one side, a movie-esque slow-mo fall to the ground ensued. Elbow and thigh connected hard with white ceramic flooring, shopping rolled, children watched on wide eyed.
The world stoopped for a beat.
As the moment of shocked silence in which I mentally inspected my body to make sure all bits were still firmly attached passed, the pain burst in my elbow.
”Fuck,” I may have been heard to mutter through the pain as I scrambled to my feet clutching my injured limb. ”My god, that fucking hurts.”
It throbbed, it ached, it felt like an elephant had danced a jig on it. It also felt damp. I rolled up my sleeve and winced. Blood dripped.
I staggered to the bathroom and mopped up blood in the mirror, ruminating on how much elbows really bastarding hurt when you bang them. And that it’s actually really difficult to tend to a wound on your own elbow.
And fuck a duck, that hurts like hell.
A small noise came from the doorway. A sniff. My daughter stood there, still dressed in her snow suit, mouth hanging open, eyes filling with tears at the sight of the blood.
”It’s okay, darling,” I said in my most reassuring voice. I even managed a smile, the warm feeling of being loved washing through me. ”Mummy’s just got a little cut.”
”It’s not that mummy,” she sniffed, tears starting to drip from the pools in her eyes. ”I don’t know if you’ll be able to make us a hotdog now.”
I'm Heather, an ex expat, now back in blighty and living in Lancashire. Which is just like Lapland only less snowy...and stuff.
Remind me again why we don’t actually eat them at birth ;-P
beats the living shit out of me.
Priceless!
Tis nice to be so loved
Bahahahahaha they learn so quick don’t they, empathetic little toads. x
aye. Little darlings
Well? Well? Well?
Did you make them hotdogs?
Fuck off.
And yes, I did. Stupidly. Should have made them have cat food instead.
SO funny!
yeah, thanks Stan. snort
You might want to get yourself a little mat for that area. Sounds quite dangerous. (There – does that make you feel a little more cared for?)
That’s much better. Will you make me a cuppa as well?
Oh my hell . . . sympathetic creatures; aren’t they?
yes. little darlings.
Heather,
I slipped like that, outside on really thick ice and broke my elbow… the first winter that I lived here. Muck Fee, it hurt too!
You should really go and get it checked over…just in case!
THERE… I love you…and I don’t want a hotdog neither…..
Love Michelle
Aww, thanks Michelle, feeling much better now
It’s gone down quite a lot over night. Will see how it is tomorrow. x
Ha ha ha! Reminds me of a time when I had my head down the toilet, vommiting, and my son asked if he could have a bowl of raisins now please. A bowl of sodding raisins!
Fucking raisins? Bloody kids.
I have found a solution to your bag carrying woes….you have reindeer there…they have antlers with lots of hooks shaped handle type prongs….
1. Catch reindeer
2. Domesticate reindeer (I’m not sure on the logistics of this one but I’m sure you can work it out!)
3. Hang shopping bags on reindeers antler handles
4. Open door, push children in, usher reindeer in…
5. Walk in avoiding slippery bits and there we have it – safe Heather, kids with hot dogs and a pet Reindeer.
It’s a good job you’ve got me as a friend isn’t it, solving all your problems one reindeer at a time.
You’re welcome
xxxxxxxxxxxxxxx
This is genius! What ever would I do without you?
So sorry that you hurt yourself so badly……unfortunately, my attention was drawn to the fact that you use plastic shopping bags!Tut Tut!……………lol ;(
ha. I do reuse. and also use canvas bags. Please don’t hate me.
Goddammit! That does it! I’m setting up an emergency hotdog making service right now! We’re talking about a little girl’s expectations here!
thank goodness you have her back, Steve. And don’t worry about me, i’m fine *sulks*
You know I’m already on my way with a cask of brandy and a St Bernard, don’t you?
And there was me thinking that this was going to be your first ever soppy post!
*snort* surely you know me better than that by now?
So… did she get her hotdogs?
Fuck off.
Oh dear. Well at least you’ve got fodder for when her future boyfriend comes to pick her up for a date. Oh, and you could tell this story when she’s interviewing for university. In fact, every time there’s ice/snow/rain/slippery surface you could say ‘Now you don’t want to slip, like the time…’ That kid will never want another hotdog again. Ever. Just saying
Well after subjecting her to such trauma I hope you made her double!