Sister Pains

Late Friday evening, after a long week running from basketball practice to fall softball games, to soccer practice, to picking up supplies for homework projects...we decided to take up friends on their offer to have a few beverages around their newly restructured fire ring. My husband was filling the cooler while I was wiping down the counters, a typical last minute OCD detail that I have a hard time letting go of.

As I turned to the front windows, I noticed Madelain and Brielle standing near the truck with the door open. I closed the windows tight, locked them, and pulled down the blinds. My husband finished his packing and was heading toward the front door while I grabbed my purse and began to follow him out. As he opened the door, a loud familiar cry reverberated throughout the house. It was, of course, the whale of a hurt child...

As she stepped into the house, I could immediately see the source of her pain and said loudly, "You've got to be *&^%$#@ kidding me!" My husband was less perceptive and assumed the problem was a small scrape to be dealt with by yelling and quickly moving on to the next task...beverages with friends. I stepped past him and grabbed her arm stating, "She's got a huge dent in her flippin' forehead!" I proceeded to usher our youngest child toward the freezer and pulled out one of the many ice paks readily on hand for just such emergencies. I asked her oldest sister to grab a washcloth to cover the pak and turned to the middle one to inquire as to how exactly this injury occurred.

The first story was a tale of two girls who decided to race. Brielle tripped and fell and hit her head. Brielle was still crying and unable to articulate in true English language, so I momentarily put the investigation on hold. I told my husband that he may as well just go to the campfire because clearly the girls and I were staying home. He angrily shook his head and demanded, "NOBODY'S GOING NOW!" He then headed back into the garage to unload the cooler.

Brielle and I moved into the living room where I asked her to sit on the floor in front of me while I sat on the recliner chair to better assess her wound. By this time it was a large green mark the size of my heel with a deep, straight lined indentation approximately two inches in length perpendicular to the floor, and a scrape the same length and width beside it. Clearly this was not a simple matter of someone "falling down". I held the ice pak to her head and looked at Madelain again and asked, "How exactly did this happen?" She muttered something about being sorry that she forced Brielle to race her when Brielle already said no and concluded with something about Brielle must have tripped and hit her head on the deck railings. The story was becoming clearer, but I knew that the true details had yet to be fully disclosed.

As my husband disappeared down the stairs to move as physically far away from his mischievous minions as possible, I began to calmly discuss with Thing 1 and Thing 2 my extreme disappointment in their choice to screw around rather than simply get into the vehicle that we were just about to load. I explained how their poor decision resulted in more than just Brielle's injury, but it also affected our family's evening plans and the plans of our good friends. Both girls quickly said, "We can still go!" But I shook my head, "Absolutely not."

I pulled the ice pak away to re-assess the damage. The indentation had now dissipated, leaving behind an ugly red, skinned line and a huge green, black, and blue mark now twice in size. Brielle said quietly, "Mommy, my tummy doesn't feel good..." I loudly called for my husband to please bring up a bucket. He sprinted up the stairs and burst into the living room presenting me with one of my cleaning buckets emptied of it's usual contents. "If she pukes, she's got a concussion!" He said urgently.

"I know." I stated calmly and placed the bucket between Brielle's legs. I told her, "Now, if you need to throw up, you have a bucket right in front of you..." I asked her to spell her name, read the numbers on the DVR, add those same numbers together, and a few other questions. She answered all correctly.

We iced for 20 minutes, sat quietly with a book for 20 minutes, and iced again. No puke. I allowed her to go to her bedroom for pajamas, where her older sibling had been sent for a little separation. I heard a short discussion between the two and then Brielle returned. Her head looked better, although still a mess. She sat down again for her icing and said simply, "Mom, Maddie said she got mad because I was winning the race...so she shoved me."

I asked Madelain, in my less than quiet voice, to join us in the living room. She hung her head as she rounded the corner, still hiccuping tears. I asked her to tell me one final time exactly what she believed happened. The tears flowed freely then as she began to admit that she had indeed pushed her sister into the deck railing.

I have never felt such an emotion. I don't know if it was anger, or sadness, disappointment, or frustration...it hurt and felt like fire and ice all at once. I could not understand how someone could physically hurt someone that they love so very much. I realized that Madelain was thinking the very same thought. She knew that what she had done was terribly wrong. It took her time to admit it, but her first admission was to the person that she had hurt. It was worse telling her father.

We discussed briefly how upsetting the situation was and how very dangerous her actions were. She apologized several times to her younger sister...but once the nails have been hammered, the damage is done...

I Will Not Sit Down and Shut Up

After a long day at work, I entered the front door to be greeted with hugs and kisses from all three of my beautiful girls. Exactly as it should be. They were each excited to tell me about their day and about how ecstatic they each were to be going to see the Globetrotters later this evening. Ahh...smiles and delighted giggles and happy faces...Exactly as it should be. As I began to prepare a rushed meal of grilled cheese, grapes, and milk, the girls began to tell me about the substitute bus driver. M said that he had to pull the bus over just a few blocks from their stop so that he could walk to the back of the bus "to talk to those kids...it looked like he was slapping them, but I'm sure he wasn't...and then he came back to the front and turned at me and yelled, 'Sit down and shut up' at me." Not quite phased (I understand how difficult it is to be a bus driver in general, so the job of a sub bus driver I imagine to be even more difficult), I asked if either she or B were yelling on the bus. Both innocently shook their heads no. Their response seemed genuine. I pride myself on being fairly tuned in to my children as a parent and am usually able to read them accurately. I then asked if anyone around them had been yelling or standing up. They said, "No, not really..." I asked for a direct "yes" or "no". M admitted that there were two boys near them who'd been standing...sort of. I began to shrug it off as something to just let go of given what seemed to be the circumstances...sub bus driver, kids yelling, made a mistake in yelling at MY child...but she'll get over it. And then B chirped, "And he made O and all the girls get off and walk farther than the boys." I placed the last sandwich on it's plate and passed them to the girls. I asked O if that was true. She said she didn't think it was such a big deal, but that he didn't stop at the regular stop and instead stopped further away and told the girls who were ready to get off to "get out" and then closed the door behind them. He drove a short distance down the road, and the boys got off the bus. At this point, the situation now became a little aggravating and seemed worth reporting to the Bus Garage to prevent future situations between the sub and my children. I quickly located the phone number, having used it to call one other time to let the regular driver know that O would not be joining the other students at the regular stop on days when the middle school and high school students are smoking...but would instead be picked up at the end of our driveway, less than 200 feet before the stop. The woman who took the call appeared very understanding and asked few questions, which I expected as it wasn't up to the bus driver to prevent the kids from smoking at the stop. The same cheerful voice answered the line and I explained who I was and that I was calling regarding bus #305 and the substitute driver. She knew immediately whom I was speaking about and said, "Oh, that was Curt, the Safety Director, let me get him for you." A little surprised at the sub's title, I anxiously awaited Curt's explanation of the situation. He answered the line in a matter-of-fact manner and allowed me to inquire about the "sit down and shut up" incident. He said that "she was very very loud from the time they left the school and had to be told many times that she needed to be quiet and I finally did tell her to sit down and shut up". I said that I certainly understood that if her behavior was inappropriate and asked if he believed what they were telling me was inaccurate. He stated, "absolutely". I said that I found it hard to believe that after all the times that my girls had been on the bus and all of the times that the other bus drivers (Roy and Bill) pointed out that they were so well behaved, that they were suddenly so inappropriate. Curt interrupted stating that kids behave worse for subs and that he didn't feel it was too much to expect that they sit quietly for the 4-5 minutes that they are riding the bus. I told him that I whole-heartedly agree and asked,"Children most definitely should be expected to sit quietly while riding the bus, but you said you told her to 'sit down and shut up'. Do you truly believe that was an appropriate way to speak to a 9-10 year old?" He said, "Absolutely." I then asked if he could clarify what happened later while driving the second route for our older daughter who was not dropped off at her regular stop and was told to "get off" along with a few other girls while the boys were dropped off further down the road. He said he never told anyone to "get off" and didn't know what exactly I was talking about. I found it interesting, he knew exactly what I was talking about earlier...perhaps a little guilt knowing he'd said something wrong? Or was her behavior so awful that she stuck out in his mind? I then asked, "So I now have three children who have all told me something completely inaccurate, is that correct?" He said, "Yes." I asked then to speak with his supervisor or manager. He said, "I'm him. I'm the bus company owner." I repeated his statement, "You are the bus company owner." He proudly stated, "yes" as my eavesdropping husband pulled the phone from my hand and moved to another room to have a private "conversation" with Curt. I hesitated and then decided against it, quickly following the sound of his large, now very angry voice. What little I grabbed of the last conversation included..."Do you really believe that it was appropriate to tell a 9 year old to shut up"..."How would you feel if you were on a bus and were told to shut up"..."If you ever tell my child to shut up again, I will find you"..."No, I'm not threatening you, sir, I am promising you"..."F'n asshole, that is what you are, telling a 9 year old kid to sit down and shut up"...."Honey, I think he just hung up on me..."