One would assume...

that removing a tinsy-tiny splinter in a 3-year-old's pinky finger might be a simple task. Today, that ONE assumed WRONG! After spending 30 minutes as a loving, gentle, compassionate mother listening to a bawling boy panicking whenever I barely touched his hand, the thought in my mind was, "Wow, being a mom sometimes is hard when you try to help your children and they fight you." So I started getting serious about getting that splinter out. Hannah attempted to keep the compassion going by singing a gentle, loving song to the screaming boy. I decided to call in the troops (which would be Daddy who was still at work). But the troops couldn't come quite yet, so this mama decided to take matters into her own hands. Emotionally worked up and slightly irate, I tried to pry open the wounded hand (do you know how tightly a 3-year-old can squeeze that hand?). Basically, 10 minutes later, I gave up the fight because physically I couldn't keep the hand open, operate, and keep the other arm pinned. Man alive... the boy went to his room until the troops came home. This mama cried out the pent-up emotions for 10 minutes. And Hannah somehow knew to leave mama alone and quietly went to the playroom to draw a nice family picture for mom to show her love and support. (notice everyone is smiling but Abe with tears streaming down his face - BUT don't feel sorry for the boy... he brought the entire thing on himself by freaking out. Ok - really I did feel empathy for the poor kiddo...eventually)Why is it that removing a splinter becomes such an emotional drama for mother and son? Jimmy came home, pinned down that arm and pried open the fist. I removed the splinter in about 10 seconds. Phew! Drama over!... only it takes the mother half the night to recover. Anyone for frozen pizza and raspberry/chocolate milkshakes for dinner. (by the way, Abe said his milkshake was yucky and physically shuddered when we made him taste it - the boy doesn't like milkshakes!!! What?!?). Today I chose to face the battle (determined that a child 100 lbs lighter than I shouldn't keep me from removing a splinter)... only I think I lost that one. But in the end, I've determined that it was pride keeping me from working hard rather than working smart (waiting for papa to save the day). I was determined that 1 mother could conquer 1 tiny splinter. Sigh... There is always hope for better mothering moments in the future.

And in the end, thinking on a discussion with my sister Amy about the tragic trials that so many face, a 40-minute splinter experience seems like a lame worry. It's Onward and Upward from here People....