One Thousand Words

Nesko and I were sitting in the living room while Niko kept running into other rooms and making messes then running back to let us know about his messes. He was in a rare mood today. A rare and clumsy mood. At one point he scampered out of the room and Nesko told him to come back because duh every time he left the room he just made some new problem.

This time he came back and said “Uh, mama, I have an owie owie” in a very calm, nonchalant voice. I looked over and HA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA BLOOD. All over his hands, his wrists, his snooze-a-saurus pyjama shirt. He didn’t seem too upset or in pain so I calmly herded him into the bathroom and cleaned him up. It was actually difficult to locate the wound, because although it bled a lot it was a small cut on his thumb. He’d just spread the blood around a lot.

What had he done to injure himself so badly?

Why, tried to cut up an apple with a serrated bread knife, of course! WHY NOT.

So we had a talk about Not Touching Knives, and I gave him a boring bandage instead of a cute! fun! Elmo! bandage because I don’t want to reward playing with knives, you know? And now I’m considering teaching him proper knife using. On the one hand, he needs to know which part of the knife is the sharp part and how to respect it. On the other hand, he’s 3 and he’s clumsy and a knife skills lessons could easily turn into some kind of murder-suicide ordeal. On the OTHER other hand (pretend I have three hands, ok?), how sweet would it be if I had a tiny sous chef in my kitchen? Pretty fucking sweet, I tell you.

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