My mom, she's a great lady and the best mom ever. But, if you're in need of some sympathy, best to go to someone else. When I was growing up, if any of us got hurt, my mom's best words of comfort were, "you'll live." Apparently, my mom's tough love technique has rubbed off on me as evidenced by this little scene in our apartment tonight:
We had just finished dinner and Mr. Frisby was doing the dishes, so I plopped down on the couch to relax for a few minutes before I had to go to YW. I had just sat down when I heard a loud "Ow!!!" from the kitchen. I waited to see if another would follow. It did, and then a "Shoot" and then another "Ow." So, I asked what happened as I walked into the kitchen to assess the situation. Our conversation went something like this:
MF - "I skewered my hand on that stupid Cutco knife that was in the silverware basket!"
*A little side note - The Cutco knife was placed in the silverware basket by Mr. Frisby himself in spite of my repeatedly telling him to put the sharp knives in the top rack.
Me - Silence. I just looked at the wound, trying to assess the damages.
MF - "It went in really deep. I could see way into my hand before it started bleeding."
Me - "Well, do you think it needs stitches?" (I couldn't tell - it was bleeding too much)
MF - "Yeah, probably. If it wasn't for that stupid Cutco knife in the silverware basket..."
Me - "Well, that's why you're supposed to put them in the top rack of the dishwasher."
Not a "Oh, that must hurt" or a "Oh, I'm really sorry" or a "Oh, what can I do to help".
Tough love. Sorry, honey. It's how I was raised. But, before you all think I'm the biggest jerk ever, I did drive him to the ER and waited with him for the hour it took for him to be seen. I didn't make him finish the dishes when we got home. And I only asked him once if he had learned his lesson about putting the sharp knives in the silverware basket. I even asked him how he was doing when I got home after YW. So, I think that means I'm only a little jerk.