Sunday, May 2, 2010
This is my baby girl Zoey. She is a bit of a drama queen. So when she tripped and fell the other day people two countries over heard about it. Seriously.
Amidst the screaming and faux pain, she manages to let me know that her arm has to be broken. Let me remind you again that this girl is a drama fest.
I calm her down and grab an ice pack and things just go south from there. She is insisting that her arm has to be broken and she is in the most pain of her life. Minutes later she is off to play with her brothers and sister. I assume that all is well and the subject is closed. No. I'm not that lucky.
The next day she throws a huge fit before school (of course) that she needs to see a doctor. I remind her of all the things she has been doing with her arm that would stand to prove her wrong. Before she leaves for school she verbally commits me to call the doctor and bust her out of school at the first chance I get. I'm on to this game. I don't call.
After school she pulls the same thing again. So I cave and take her to our local walk-in clinic. On the way there we have words...
Me: You do realize that going to the doctor will cost a lot of money-- right?
Z: I get it Mom!
Me: We still have to pay if you are hurt or not.
Z: Mom, I know, I still want to go.
When we get there I do my best to hurry her through the motions and answer all the doctors' questions. He does a very long and detailed examination of her arm. I'm just waiting for him to send us on our way with our little Barbie stickers and big ol' bill. He doesn't. Instead he says that Z will need some x-rays.
Now I'm starting to feel a little small and Z is giving me the I told you so look.
While we are waiting for the x-rays to come back we have a little time to talk.
Me: I bet you 10 bucks your arm is fine.
Z: I don't have 10 bucks but I have 2 cents-- you're on.
Me: I'm so sure nothing is wrong with you; I'll take your bet and raise you one week of bed making!
Z: That means when he tells me my arm is broken you owe me 2 cents and I don't have to make my bed for a week.
Me: That means that when he tells us your arm is fine you owe me 2 cents and a weeks worth of perfect bed making without being asked.
The doctor returns and money changes hands.
Her arm had a small buckle fracture.
I feel about 2 inches tall.
Geez, I'm such a good mom.
Zoey was on cloud nine. She had a smile plastered on her face for days after. She was basking in her victory.
She left the doctors office 2 cents richer with a cool velcro arm brace and a bit of a bounce in her step.
I would have bet the farm she was fine.... good thing I don't actually own a farm.