OUCH!

Another sign that Spring is here:  bare feet outdoors.  Since she's constantly telling my children to put their shoes on, my mother would scream, "I told you so!" if she read this story, so I'm hoping she doesn't.

We were all playing on the deck the other day and I heard Chase start yelling, "I need a band-aid! GET A BAND-AAAAAAID!"  It was strange, because there was no cry of pain or screaming or anything, just immediately shrieking for a bandage.  

Can you see this thing?

Wicked, wicked splinter.  

After he realized what it was, of course, and remembering the pain of removing an equally giant-sized one last summer, the bawling began.  I tried only once to pull it out, and being the wuss that I am, I called Brian to come home and get it.  While the sympathetic Mom was taking pictures, Grandaddy came over, grabbed a hold of his foot with one hand and the splinter with the other and with one big yank, out it came.

Of course, Chase was screaming at the trauma and I was laughing internally at the fact that Grandaddy can't grip the coke bottle to get it open, but he did this heroic thing for his great-grandbaby.

Chase sulked in the chair for a long time trying to pull himself together.  Grandaddy kept asking, "You ain't mad at your ol' Grandaddy, are you, boy?"  

He just shook his head no.  I snuck a sucker over to Grandaddy to give to Chase as a peace offering and it was definitely the best medicine.  About ten minutes after, I found Chase on the couch.  Such trauma can sure take it out of you.

I was just getting ready to hit "publish" when Ava started crying from the deck. You guessed it...she needed a band-aid for the splinter.  I really hate it when my mom is right.