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...