After church today, we met some friends at a local beach to explore during an unusually low tide. We hurried down to the edge of the water, past the rocks covered with slimy seaweed and meandered right for awhile. We came upon a few sea-stars, crabs and snails before deciding to turn the other direction.
Our friends arrived and while the children ran ahead, she and I strolled and caught up on the news. She used to live in my town, but then they moved to Hawaii, then to North Carolina and recently back again–but now, on the other side of The Bridge.
We went under a pier and came out on the other side. The boys were having a fine time looking under rocks and digging.
And then my 3-year old daughter stepped back, bumped into a rock, lost her balance and fell. She braced her fall with her hands.
I quickly lifted her to her feet and checked her hands and sure enough, she cut the edge of one on a barnacle-encrusted rock. I had a tissue in my purse and when a small circle of blood appeared, she asked for a new tissue. She clamped it on her injury and then, it must have started to sting because finally, she started to cry.
She’s so much like me. She refuses to be comforted. She wouldn’t let me hold her, wouldn’t accept a hug, wouldn’t talk. Only cried and cried. I used to think that my parents must have really screwed up because I never remembered being comforted as a child. I remember having deep slivers embedded in toes and scraped knees and a bitten tongue, once, but I don’t remember hugs and wiped tears and comfort. Once, I worked myself into an emotional lather, thinking of how this lack of comfort had scarred me forever, blaming my parents.
But watching my daughter today as she handled this pain made me realize that I probably did the same as a child. I refused hugs, refused sympathy, refused tender ministrations. I’m like that now. When I’m sick, I prefer to be left alone in my agony. I don’t want to talk about it. I just want solitude. I will die in peace, thank you very much.
When I see something in my children that is clearly a genetic response to a situation, I see again that so much of behavior is nature, not nurture. This makes me feel so much better about my mothering–on one hand, I’m shaping the future. On the other, I’m just along for the ride, keeping them alive until they are adults.
We left the beach soon after my daughter cut her hand. She cried all the way home, then fell promptly to sleep on my bed. She still wore her hot pink jacket. The tissue stuck to her injured palm, even without being held. It stayed there until bath-time when I poured water over it, dislodged it before she could protest and bandaged it again.
She asked me, a few minutes ago, if the sea creature had scissors. I explained about barnacles and their hard shells and off she ran to report the news to her daddy. “I’m going to go tell Daddy about the barnacles!”
(Mr. Safety, my husband, would like you to know that this sort of thing wouldn’t happen if he’d been in charge. And I say to that, fractured collarbone. I am so happy that he was in charge when our then-3 year old fractured his collarbone in a tumble off the couch. I will use that information for the rest of my natural life to remind Mr. Safety that Accidents Happen.)
Actual Unretouched Photo 
Isn’t that interesting about your daughter not wanting to be comforted and how that is like you! We can learn so much about ourselves, watching our children. I watch my 1 year old make a mountain out of a mole hill to get attention and will coo comforting sounds for herself if mine aren’t enough for her taste. I, like her, would like to be held and comforted even when nothing is wrong. Very cute about your daughter asking if it had scissors. Makes sense!
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I hope your daughter’s hand heals quickly! Poor little thing. Was this picture just taken today, it looks so cold!
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Yes, that picture was taken today. It was a balmy 55-60 degrees this afternoon! And with the breeze from the water, it was downright chilly!
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I’m married to a Mr. Safety too!
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I’m like that too. I don’t know how J & I survive sometimes, because his instinct is to TALK about EVERYTHING.
When our first dog (who we treated like our only child) was hit and killed by a car, he wanted to talk about our favorite memories of the dog.
I remember looking at him like he had just suggested we we wear grass skirts and hula around the neighborhood singing the YMCA. Naturally, I promptly ousted him from the room. He looked so confused by my reaction.
At 7 months, Button’s chief method of comfort is to hold onto my hair. No idea which side of the family she gets that from.
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So sorry your little Moppet cut her hand…those barnacles DO hurt, by george! Also, reading about your visit to the beach there sure brought back some pleasant childhood memories for me. We used to spend a lot of time at Hood Canal and Puget Sound. We used to go clamming and then wait until nightfall to build a huge bonfire, then sit around stuffing ourselves silly with butter clams. Oh, my…what a festive feast! Also, remember the actor Charles Frank? He’s been on lots of TV shows but is probably best known as Dr. Jeff Martin on “All My Children” especially in the 1970s. His dad and my dad worked for the same company and their family had a beautiful summer home on the Sound. We had a company picnic there every summer. I was just a little girl and Charles was the most incredibly handsome teenager…when he’d lift me up to put me in the speed boat for a ride out on the water, I’d be totally blissed out…I LOVED that guy, lol! Sheeesh…hadn’t thought about either memory in a long, long time…
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I am married to Monsieur Safety.
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We can only guide the direction for them to take; the map is still in their hands.
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My daughter is the same way. When she hurts herself, she runs to her room, closes the door, and comes out when she’s done crying. I learned fairly early that she didn’t want me to enter her room. Now that you mention it, I suspect I was the same way too.
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I pitty mr. Safty. When my daugher broker her leg (fractured,) he was gone on an errand…only to say later, “If I’d been home this wouldn’t have happened, i should have been there.” My response is not gut leval at all, “You mean I am a Bad Mother who can not cope without you?
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I’ve really come to believe that so much of it is nature, too–MG has always been jumpy and anxious about being abandoned; even as a baby she seemed to be constantly worried that we were going to leave her for the wild animals. And Renaissance Woman is the same way, even though she survived a childhood of benign near-neglect and MG has been hovered over since the day she was born. They’re just both wired that way.
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I am married to Mr. Laid Back. I am Mrs. Overreact.
It looks like you all had fun exploring and looking for creatures.
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I just found your blog off of another link and I LOVE IT!! It’s so real! You are hilarious! Thanks for all the giggles!!
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