Sammy’s Ouchie

Beta: Periantari
 

Sammy is 3 ½ (or 2 in Man years)
Autumn 1383 SR

What is it about lads as make them want to climb up shelves and jump off fences and give their poor mothers such a fright? Daisy and May never pull such stunts, but the lads now… Hamson’s got a crooked pinky from falling on his hand once and not telling us ‘til it was too late. That’s not to mention the time he knocked out a molar from playing too hard with the Twofoot lads. Halfred, lor’ but it will take all day to list the injuries that child’s had. And now Sammy…

I see him too late, climbing yet again on the garden gate. I look up just as he loses his footing, and he’s on the ground wailing by the time I run outside, slowed by the swelling of my belly. I check him over and see as naught’s broken, so I pick him up and carry him back to the kitchen. He clings to me as he cries and almost don’t let me sit him down on his daddy’s chair.

I wet a clean rag with the dish water and have him hold it to his bleeding lower lip so as I can wipe the tears and dirt off his face and hands. I check his gums and see as his teeth are all intact. Then I check his hands and feet for scrapes or splinters. I find a couple of splinters in his right palm, but they’re not too deep.

I wipe his tears again and kiss his brow. “Now what’d I say about climbing on the gate?” I ask.

“Not to,” Sammy sniffles.

“And are you going to climb it again?”

Hiccup. “No Mama,” he promises. Leastways, not ‘til he’s forgetting his hurts anyhow.

I hold back a sigh, wipe the last of his tears, then go to fetch the needle. Sammy scrunches up his eyes and holds his breath when he sees me coming back with one of my wee sewing needles. I shush reassuringly, put his right hand in my lap and hold it towards the light from the window. I run a thumbnail over the splinters to loosen them a bit, teasing them to the surface, then two gentle presses of the needle later, the splinters are out. Sammy though is still holding his breath, waiting for the jab.

“All done,” I announce and kiss his palm.

“You are?” Sammy asks in amazement and opens his eyes. He examines his palm in disbelief as I put the needle away. When I return this time, he grins up at me, tears and hurts forgotten. “Thanks, Mama,” he says around his busted lower lip, which doesn’t look to be swelling too badly.

“Keep that rag in place,” I instruct.

I go into the pantry for somewhat as’ll keep the swelling down and help numb the pain a little. I find the herbs I need – I always keep a few on hand, because of Halfred – and make a quick poultice, spooning some of the boiling water from the stew pot into a mug with the herbs. I set the mug aside to let the herbs steep into a tea, then turn to Sammy. “Are you hungry?”

Sammy nods eagerly. “Yes, Mama.” He swings his feet happily and sits back in the chair, the damp rag dutifully pressed to his lip.

He watches me go about fixing him a snack. He’s an easy stomach to please and he’ll anything I put in front of him. Still, I make him a cucumber sandwich and cut him an apple and carrot, his favorite snack. His little face lights up even more when I set the plate in front of him, then he’s wincing a half-second later.

“Mind your lip now,” I say, seeing a fresh spot of blood on the rag. “You’ll be busting it open plenty over the next week or so, I should imagine. Try not to smile too wide, hard as that may be.”

Sammy nods and manages to get a bite of his sandwich around the rag and into his mouth. He munches without complaint, intent on his food. When I hand him the poultice a few minutes later, he exchanges that for his rag without so much as a word. He does hiss inward right sharp at the sting of the herbs, but the pain only lasts a moment or two before the numbing starts to set in.

I go back to my cooking as Sammy continues with his snack, humming under his breath some lullaby or song he’s heard from somewhere. I can only hope it ain’t some bawdy song one of his brothers brought home from the fields.

I half expect him to jump off the chair and go dashing outside again once he’s finished eating, but it seems he’s not quite over his little scare yet as he keeps sitting in his daddy’s chair, watching me as I work. I sing him a few songs, then we start riddling and that keeps us going ‘til its near teatime.

Halfred and Hamson return home first from their day of work. As always, they come first to the kitchen to see what’s cooking for dinner, and they spot Sammy. It ain't unusual for him to be in the kitchen with me, but he's usually helping me one way or another. Course, they see the reason right off, as I have him applying another poultice to his lip. Hamson simply raises his eyebrows and looks at me. Halfred though goes over to crouch in front of his little brother.

“What happened to you, lad?” he asks.

“I fell,” Sammy announces and pulls the poultice away.

Hamson whistles in appreciation of the injury. Halfred touches a light finger to the busted lip. “That’s neat! If you’re lucky, it might even leave a scar,” he says unhelpfully. “You should have seen me the time I broke my nose. There was blood everywhere; Hammy nearly fainted.”

“Really?” Sammy asks, interest peaked, just as Hamson protests, “I did not!”

I sigh inwardly and brace myself with patience. I can only hope this next bairn will be a lass.

GF 11/16/08