Lucy fell down yesterday. Not a strange occurrence for a 4 year old, but this time there was blood. Lucy fell on the driveway and skinned her knee, badly. She was appropriately hysterical and burst into the house demanding that we call 911. Although my instinct as a mother would definitely lean towards this solution I calmly determined that a little bit of peroxide and a band aid would probably do the trick. I placed her on the bathroom counter and began to ever so gently clean it, during which Lucy hysterically demanded through sobs, “WHAT ARE YOU DOING? WHAT IS A COTTON BALL? WHY DO YOU HAVE TO CLEAN IT? I NEED A BAND AID!! ARE THERE GERMS? DON’T TOUCH IT!! DON’T TOUCH IT MOMMY!!” I envisioned slapping her across the face and exclaiming “Damn it woman, pull yourself together!” But then I remembered that she is only 4 and there are laws against those kinds of things.

Just as calm was beginning to be restored and Lucy had simmered down into slow, quiet heaves of sadness Max began to cry uncontrollably and scream, “BOO BOO!! BOO BOO!! BOO BOO!!” I was perplexed. How could he have hurt himself in the five minutes he’d been standing there watching me bandage Lucy’s knee? I said “Boo Boo?” and Max wailed “YESH, BOO BOO!!” I looked at Lucy, she is after all my official Max interpreter, but she had nothing for me. “Max, where does it hurt?” and he raised up his index finger to show me an imaginary boo boo. I delicately placed a band aid on his finger and they both quietly whimpered into the play room to resume their day.

As I tucked them into bed that evening and asked them what the worst part of the day was Lucy said “falling down and hurting my knee” and Max silently raised his bandaged finger indicating that he too was sad. Boy, they say toddlers like to mimic but I really think Max has taken it a bit too seriously.