Thank you, Buzz!

Finn is, as they would have put it in the olden days, of a delicate disposition. My fearless ice-skating, hockey playing, swimming-like a fish boy can be reduced to a state of extreme jellification at the sight of a little blood. And when the blood is his, it's even worse.

He led a charmed life as  a very small boy and it wasn't until he was well into his fourth year that we discovered his blood related issues. It was Mother's day. Mummy and Finn went out for a morning walk in the sunshine to spend some quality time together without the smallest, noisiest member of the family. We walked down to the lakeright then on through the secret tunnel onto the adjoining fire lane. (This will only make sense to those of you who have visited or who live here so for everyone else let's just say, it's a nice walk down a couple of country lanes!) We broke into a spontaneous game of tag and I immediately learned several lessons on child rearing all at once:

It is not a good idea to play tag with a child wearing wellington boots.
It is not a good idea to play tag on a blacktop road.
It is not a good idea to cause said child to fall on said blacktop road especially when it is a good ten minute walk home and the child is liable to pass out at any moment.
It is always a good idea to carry band aids in one's pockets or handbag. Or at least a tissue for the wiping up of excess blood run off.

So, having learnt all these lessons at the same time, I found myself with a near hysterical child, ten minutes from home with the threat of a blood-filled wellie becoming more real by the second.

After having done my, "Oh, poor you!" routine and its having no effect, I was forced to change to the, "Come on, chin up, it's not that bad!" so oft used by the English parent, and then on through my very own special blend of, "Well, I can't carry you home so it's either walk by yourself or stay here."

We made a sorry picture as we trudged home along route 41: Finn in tears holding up his shorts leg as blood trickled into his boot, and me trying hard not to make eye contact with car drivers for fear of worrying them into calling the police. When we arrived home, I was forced to lay Finn down on the sofa as he had gone very white and trembly, and when I came near him with a bowl of water and some gauze, he got worse.
"What are you gong to do, Mummy? Will it hurt?" A new round of sobbing.
"It will a little bit but I have some Toy Story band aids we can put on afterwards. And some chocolate." I was trying hard to make up for my slightly less than empathetic reaction earlier. And I wanted to stop him going into shock from a cut knee. So he soldiered on, clutching Buzz Lightyear to his chest and gradually returning to his usual colour. After a good couple of mouthfuls of chocolate and a few dozen reading books, he managed to rise from his prone position and let me cook him some lunch.

We are now fully prepared to cope with Finn's reaction to blood and pain, scheduling an afternoon at home instead of pre-school after routine vaccinations, for example. But it doesn't have to be his blood or his pain that elicits such a reaction: Finn's pre-school teacher informed me one day that he'd had to have a bit of a sit-down after two boys bumped heads at playtime. Two other boys. And when he got a splinter in his hand from Daddy's newly built deck stairs, I nearly called an ambulance there was such a blood curdling racket. And when Daddy tried to get the splinter out with a sterile needle and tweezers...