The screaming was unmistakable. Real pain. Hurt. This is a scream that requires immediate attention. Drop whatever it is you are doing and tend to this. How did I know? As a parent, you just know, we all know. It’s a skill we have acquired not by design but rather, experience. For better or worse, it’s how our children communicate with us. For any of you without children, here’s a brief rundown of some of the basic screams you might happen to encounter in a given day and their associated literal translation.
Screamtionary
| Waaaaaaaaa!!! |
I’m Hungry |
| Waaaaaaaaa!!! |
I’m Thirsty |
| Waaaaaaaa!!! |
I’m Wet |
| Waaaaaaaa!!! |
I’m Really Stinky |
| Waaaaaaaa!!! |
I’m Tired |
| Waaaaaaaa!!! |
I’m Hurt |
Easy, right? Like I said, it’s an acquired skill. I always laugh at the incredulous looks I get from people who hear the horrible screaming coming from my children and the complete look of disbelief as I stand calmly, yet idly by. “Are you going to do something?”, they’ll eventually ask. “Hmm? Oh that. Yeah… No. He’s fine. He’s just upset because I made him put his shoes on before we came in the store.”
Back to the screaming at hand. Well, in a minute. First, a bit of preface. On our way home from school I had told the kids that before they did anything else, before they changed their school clothes, before they started playing games, even before going inside to just settle we needed to clean out the inside of the van. I’m not necessarily a neatnik, far from it, but the inside of the van was starting to reek. It was full of all manner of trash, wrappers, food debris, juice cups, school papers, books, toys, jackets, balls, dvds. The list was endless. We basically live in that van and it was starting to show. It was agreed then, that as soon as we got home we would all pitch in and get the inside of the van picked up.
As soon as the doors opened on our arrival home, my kids ran from that van like their clothes were on fire. They scattered like cockroaches when you turn on the light. I think I may have even heard one of them yelling, “Sucker!!” They deserted me. Even the twins. And so it was that I began the solitary task of cleaning out the van. After just five short minutes…..(cue the scream).
I quickly ran to the side of house to investigate. I first met Zia who was screaming. However, not the scream I was chasing. She was yelling something about how it wasn’t her fault……Next, Zoë (the explainer) who was telling me something about how Zane fell and there was blood. Then my little boy, my buddy, my screamer. Zane appears holding his arm up, bloodied at the elbow tears streaming down his face. “Zane?! What happened?”
“Waaaaa!!, Iwaaaa…annZeeeiii Iellll….(big sniff)…annnnwaaaaa….annnnmy arm.”
“What, Timmy’s fallen into the well and the rope broke when you tried to get him out. Now the water is rising perilously fast because the loggers blew up the beaver dam and the well is flooding? Come on boy? Take me there!” (I might as well have been talking to Lassie.)
Apparently, Zane had been chasing Zia around the back of the house and fell, injuring his elbow. I used my super sleuth parent detective skills to figure that one out. Really, it wasn’t that hard. A–Zia screaming that she didn’t do it. B– Zoë completely out of breath from the wind sprints she had just finished. And 3–Zane screaming and holding a mangled elbow equals one tidy little story of pain. Then it hit me. What a tremendous opportunity for a lesson. What follows is to the best of my recollection the conversation that took place.
“Zane….. Zane. I need you to stop crying and tell me what happened.”
(sniff, sniff) “OK. (sniff) I was running after Zia and I tripped and hurt my elbow.”
“And what were you supposed to be doing right now?”
“I don’t know.” (sniff)
“Do you remember our little discussion about cleaning out the van as soon as we got home?” (For added effect, I was still holding the 1/2 full trash bag from the job I had been left to do. Yes, it was trash bag full dirty.”
“Yes.”
“Zane, if you had been doing what I asked you to do this would not have happened. Can we agree on that?”
“Yes.” (sniff)
“I asked all of you to help me clean out the van when we got home and you chose to ignore that request and run around out here like a crazy person and now you’re hurt. It really makes it kind of hard for me to feel sorry for you.”
(sniff, blank stare)
“And let me tell you this, Zane. Tomorrow, your arm is really going to hurt. Badly. And when it does I want it to be a reminder to you that you should have been doing what I asked you to do instead of messing around. A reminder to help out when you’re asked to.”
“I’m sorry, Dad” (sniff, sniff, small tear)
“Well….I am too. Now let’s go call the ambulance so we can get that arm stitched up and casted.”
Edit: I am only kidding. No stitches were needed. Or casting. It was just a nice scrape. And, the majority of the conversation above took place in my head although there was definitely some “teaching” garnered from the experience.
Lagniappe: Scream Night
in the backyard where I buried all of my pets that had gone on. I still consider myself a softy when it comes to animals. Except for snakes. My general rule about snakes is the only good snake is a dead snake. But since they are reptiles I suppose they don’t really count as far as my discussion goes here. So anyway, I was moved at this woman’s concern. Until…
