Tell Me A Story

Monkey and Turtle (Monkey in particular) frequently ask, "Tell me a story momma, about how sissy got a boo-boo eye." I then start, "Once upon a time, Turtle was at the window, and Duncan was at the window, and Duncan bit Turtle in the eye because his brain was very sick. And Turtle screamed and Mommy came running and got a towel from the kitchen to wipe Turtle's blood, and said, "It's ok, It's ok. . . . " The story goes on and on of course, of how I hustled everyone into the car, how I dropped Monkey off at the neighbor's house (and that Aunt D. came to get her later), that Turtle and I went to one hospital and then had to ride in an ambulance to get to the other, that Daddy was at the other hospital when we got there, etc. etc. etc., detailing the surgery, Monkey's visits to Turtle in the hospital, who came to see us, and so on.

The most fascinating part of this is that even though I've "told them a story" more than a dozen times, they both (Turtle in particular) have added details over time. Turtle remembered that I ran to the kitchen and got a dish towel to stop the bleeding, so I added that to the story. She also reminded me that she played with Play-Doh while we waited in the ER for the surgeon. And Monkey is the one who first re-enacted my running around the house repeating "It's Ok, It's Ok, It's Ok" in a frantic voice. When I saw her do that I had a clear picture of me trying to soothe myself as much as them.

Both girls have a firm grasp of what happened, and the consequence (we had Duncan put to sleep after it was determined that he had become medically aggressive and couldn't be helped), and while we deal with all of this directly and matter of factly, I wonder sometimes if I'm doing enough to help them work it all out.

The other day when I told the story, Monkey said something that prompted me to ask her if she remembered what sissy's boo boo looked like right after Duncan bit her. It was the first time I'd asked that, and her eyes got very wide and she nodded "yes" and said it was like a mask. I hadn't thought much about what it must have been like for Monkey to see the horrible gash that I saw, and now that I know she remembers it so well, what should I do?

What prompted this post is that tonight Turtle was playing with Twin Daddy's sleeve, making motions with her finger, when completely out of the blue, she said, "I'm cutting your shirt off Daddy. Then I'm going to give you a yucky mask." She had her shirt cut off to prep for the surgery. Then she had "yucky mask" anesthesia (as opposed to the "yummy mask" she had when she had the stitches out and we had time to order a nice strawberry-flavored anesthesia). We have never once talked about having her shirt cut off in the two-plus months since it happened, not because it's so horrible; I just didn't remember that part. But she remembers it - she remembers every detail.

The only physical reminder of this sad incident is a tiny little scar under Turtle's eye. I'm hoping that my inner wisdom (????) will help me say exactly the right thing every time it's brought up, so that over the long term it will become a simple memory, with all the frightening emotions drained out.

Spring Break

After much hand-wringing, I've decided to take a break from posting to this blog for the month of April. I used to sit down and crank out a great little story (in my humble opinion) in about 20 minutes. Now it takes me almost an hour just to create something slightly interesting, and I don't look forward to it. I'm pretty sure it's because my house is no longer quiet - I used to be able to compose complete posts in my mind during the two naps a day, or as I took a long walk in the stroller, or as I sat around watching my babies learn to crawl. Now, someone is talking to me non-stop, there is only one short-ish nap, and going for a walk usually involves strenuous negotiations to keep Monkey in the stroller while I rush back home. In other words, my mind is never quiet enough to remember my friends' birthdays, much less assemble stories.

When I return in May my posts may be very short. I think if I didn't put pressure on myself to write a "story," I wouldn't be so resistant to sitting down in front of the computer. For example, I might post one thing I learned from my kids that day. Something like this:

Today I learned from Turtle that the reason I'm at home is so I can turn on Dora the Explorer for her. Daddy (who they both call "Boots" when they are in Dora mode) isn't at home because he has to go to work. And Mommy (who is "Swiper") is at home so "you can turn on Dora." I'm not sure why Twin Daddy gets to be Boots and I've been named Swiper - pretty telling, eh? Anyway, I guess once Turtle learns how to work the DVD player, I'll no longer be needed around here.

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Until next month!