peevish mama

On Saturday Saint James jacked his pinky playing soccer with some neighbors.  By the end of the day it was a swollen little sausage.  Yesterday Doctor Dash took him to get x-rayed and it was confirmed: a fracture.  Total nightmare for summer.  No swimming, no soccer, no piano, no tennis, no nothing.  My heart sank when I watched the little guy get out of the car with an enormous splint on his hand.  

So I did what any good mom would do.  I took him to a movie.  We were waiting in line for tickets to Wall-E with Supergirl and poor Saint James rested his splinted hand on my arm (it gets tiring to hold it up all the time).  His pinky and ring finger had been taped together, and I remarked that those guys were going to get to be really good buddies after this experience.  Saint James’ response slayed me.  “They’re already best friends.”  When I asked him why, he said, “They always move together . . . they like to stay near each other.”

Because talking to children is often like talking to a stoned person (in that you talk about really cool stuff, or really mundane stuff that seems really cool at the time, or you think about stuff in a really cool new way), the logical next step was to ask him about the relationships between his other fingers, since he has evidently given this some thought.  

Me:  So what about the thumb and pointer?  

Saint James:  They’re just good co-workers.