The large bandage on my right hand would be clear indicator which of those two groups I fell into yesterday. Did I know I should have walked around the house to the garage to get my leather gloves before I starting digging away at the hard compacted dirt? Yeeees. Did I know that was the SMART thing to do? Yeeees. Did I do that? Nooooooo. Why not? In the infamous words of Bill Cosby, "I dunno!" Oh alright, maybe I do know - I was being lazy. I can't even say I was being held prisoner by aliens! I was just plain lazy and therefore self-talked my way out of having to be smart.
The result? A giant blister - now popped of course - the size of a nickel in the palm of my right hand. The worst part was, since I had this open wound, Tad and I weren't able to play in the mud like we wanted. That's what breaking up the dirt and getting rid of sharp rocks was all about. We were preparing our mud pit for hours of highly anticipated good 'ol muddy fun. It ended with me on the couch (hey he put me there!), leaning against a pile of soft pillows and covered with Tad's biggest bestest cuddly furry blanket. It was 85 degrees in the house. Penance for ignorance. He also cleaned me up and tended to my wound. His inner, very tender, Florence Nightingale came out and took control. I mean TOOK CONTROL! "This was a really bad owie, now you have to rest".
He cleaned me up, bandaged me excessively and marched me to the couch where he finished his ministrations. He made a giant pile of pillows on the couch using every single pillow in the living room. Ordered me to lay down, took off down the hall and returned with the Mother of all comfortable blankies - took both his hands and all his strength to drag it down the hall. He was so cute I couldn't not comply. After he got me cozy he went off to the kitchen to "do chores". "Do chores," I asked him? "Well yeah, that's what you do when someone gets hurt bad. You take care of them, make 'em rest, then you go do chores." And darned if that little rascal didn't pull up his stairs to the kitchen sink and wash the rest of the dirty dishes! There weren't many to begin with so he was back at my feet in quick time, dripping wet and cute as hell.
I asked him if I could get up now. He looked at me for a beat then said, "Ya know, next time we dig, you should put your gloves on cuz now we can't play in the mud." Oh God, could I feel any smaller? Nope, not really. I was sufficiently reprimanded by a three year old. A three year old I have a lot of respect for. Enough that from now on, I will be on the wise side of the line. At least when I'm with him. That's the way it is with the good folks I guess. Being around them makes us want to do better. Perhaps that's why kids come as kids first - and not adults!