family, funny, health, humor, kids, mom humor, parenting, society


As a kid, I never remember getting coddled over my illnesses. My siblings and I were described as an advanced group of whining/crying kids, so my mother often times didnt believe us, when we complained of ailments. The story of the “Boy who cried wolf”, may have actually been written about us…..Or at least that's what we've been led to believe!

My mom once cut my youngest brothers ear during a hair trim, with what Im sure were rusty, dull kitchen scissors! He cried and cried, pleading with her to stop her “new found” trimming techniques, as she told him, so patiently, to quiet down…..he was just being dramatic! That is until she rounded his other side, and saw a small blood bath, pooling at the top of his polo shirt. She was very apologetic, as she placed a bandaid over it, but it was over….the memory was set in stone.

My other brother suffered a similar fate, after rolling down a long hill….and on his bike no less! He cried and cried, as all of us always did, complaining of broken bones and such. She told him to stop crying, and we would be leaving soon enough! Several hours passed, and he was still crying, holding his arm. Finally, after she grew tired of it, she took him to the hospital, where they found that he had a broken collar bone! Again, apologies were past due.

These are stories that we ALL live to tell. These stories, while they may be slightly different, will be stories that our own children will tell about us. IT'S JUST LIFE!

I'm not unlike my own mother, when it comes to coddling my own children. They cry and fuss constantly. Somebody broke their arm or leg, I stretched their ear to far while pulling on it, they are so sick that they can't bear to do their chores…..I've heard them all. Then, when they really are hurt, I fail to believe their claims. “Sure…okay. You'll live. Nothing a little air and time won't cure”! Then, when they ask for a bandaid, I tell them we don't have one….because we don't! They've used them all, when they don't need them, on every paper cut and bruise they have! It takes ALOT for them to evoke sympathy from me.

A couple of years ago, my son broke his arm, while trying to balance his bike on the edge of a ramp at the school playground. I should have known that he was in trouble by the look on his face. He didnt cry, but just held his arm saying it was broken, over and over!

“Oh stop it. You're fine”! I said….Then, I proceeded to have him ride his bike back home, so I could take him to the doctor! I didn't want to have to go back to get the bike…in case he was lying….Plus, I knew we could get home quicker this way. AND before you ask, I did not make him balance me on the back! He did end up needing surgery, and pins placed…so that made me feel kind of bad! BUT…You can't win them all!

The same goes with their illnesses. They're always sick, until you give them medicine, and then they have all the energy in the world….Are they lying? How did they get that 103 degree temperature to begin with? Its a conspiracy! I try to be a good sweet, caring mom, but in the back of my mind, I'm wondering just how they're manipulating me.

The thing is, even though I give little attention to their frequent ailments……. When Im sick, I require FULL attention! I am sicker than anyone can ever dream. My throat is sorer, my sneezes are more frequent, my coughs are debilitating, and my capabilities are limited! When I get frustrated, I often say “YOU GUUUUUYS….I'M SIIIIIICKK…..PLEASE!” Then I moan and cry, until every ounce of me is healed.

Maybe this stems from the fact that my mother didnt coddle me enough, when I was little. Maybe I just want attention from my family a few times a year, and expect them to wait on me for a moment….OR maybe I'm just sicker than everyone else!

It's neither here nor there, but right now…I have the worst sore throat EVER! I Have managed to clean the house, make dinner, and take my boys for a hair cut, but I fear for the rest of the night!

I will need my wine poured, my slippers placed on my feet, the television remotes brought to me, my sore muscles rubbed, a bedtime snack made, my bed pulled down, my pillows fluffed…………

Cheers to a healthy winter!!!!!



12 thoughts on “EMPATHY DEFICIT….

  1. My son loves to tell the story of the time he broke his finger. He had been out playing with a friend and came in and told me that he thought he broke his finger. Now, being the mother of a boy (and less empathetic than I probably should be) I have learned that rushing to the ER or doc office is a waste of time and money. He knows the rule. He has to sit for 20 min with ice and then we evaluate. Of course, when he came in complaining, the first words out if my mouth were “I’m sure it’s not broke, and the Cowboy game is about to come on”. Before the game started I checked and darned if I didn’t think it needed a trip to the ER. And I watched the game from his ER room.
    His finger was broke.

  2. TIA,
    When Brett was in school, I had a rule, If you are sick and must stay home then you are to stay in bed. No TV, No FUN. Even if it was obvious that he was sick, fever throwing up or any other visible reasons for his not being able to go to school, the same rule applied.

    My purpose was to make the house a less favorable place then school. Brett only stayed home when he was sick because laying in bed all day staring at the walls is far less favorable then going to class. I think he went to school sick sometimes just to avoid the day he knew he would have at the house.

    Kids do lie, but until such time I take their word on it. Brett had a real problem wanting to tell the truth but i cured him of this awful quick also. This is a sermon for another Sunday. Thanks as always for sharing your life and I hope you feel better. Hey maybe you should ad in in a Tia Sick Pic to this blog and drum up smoe extra sympathy comments. πŸ™‚

    • I’m actually not that sick….just a sore throat! I am not sick enough to lay in bed all day, looking at the walls, so I’m going to go to work:). I would like some sympathy comments though! πŸ™‚

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