Don't Worry Mom. It's Not My Blood

If you are hurt

Let me bandage 

Your wound.

~ The Garden

My life is graced by some amazing people - family, friends, neighbors, and sometimes perfect strangers. This week was full of them. And the week ended with visits from a couple of friends who wanted to visit the garden. One of them is a landscaper who, with her team, helped me create the garden - beginning in June 2020.

The garden is a healing place. We wandered though, touched and smelled the flowers and foliage, talked about how to protect this plant and remove that one, planned where to move plants in the wrong spot, and commented on the bees, butterflies, and bugs. We breathed in the color and fragrance and movement.

But I have gotten diverted. This post is about other things.

My landscaper friend also explores old properties with a metal detector. She decided to go back to my old home because conditions where right for good returns. We had a text and photo exchange later in the day:

TM: Here is what I found in your yard earlier. 😊

Me: This is very cool. You know, I recognize the fastener for an Ace bandage.  When anything hurt I would ask the kids if they thought an ace bandage    would help it feel better. They almost always said,”yes!” Sometimes a kid would be wearing a couple-three bandages around.❤️

TM: That’s so cool! I’ll save it for you! What a special memory! I found it beneath the big red oak on the east side of the sidewalk. 

Me: Hahahaha! I probably still have some of those stretched-out bandages! ❤️😊♥️

TM: I figured it had a story when I dug it up. I recognized it immediately from my own share of wearing ace bandages over the years. 😁

See the rusty bandage fastener in the middle on the right-hand side, just above a penny.

It was a great memory - my kids and the neighbors wrapped up in Ace bandages. Every day seemed to be Halloween - mummies walked in our neighborhood! And with three children only two years apart in age I tried to keep things as orderly as possible. Kissing "boo-boos" works, but as kids get bigger they need something else - something cool to stop the "ouch." And they need some rules.

We had good rules and weird rules. 

"NO BLOOD, NO TEARS" was one rule.  While harsh, it was supposed to encourage them to be tough. You don't cry unless you are really hurt. Maybe it would help keep the noise level down too. 

Usually the children were pretty stoic. [And they were much better behaved than either parent - but that is another story.]

Then one day after the kids had left for the bus stop and I was about to head to work, one of the children arrived at the back door. Surprised (as they never missed the bus) I asked, "why are you home?" and scolded, "you're going to miss the bus!" At the same time the child said those magic words,* "don't worry Mom. It's NOT my blood." Only then did I realize the child had blood all over her.

"Well whose blood is it?

I figured that was a perfectly reasonable question. 

The child proceeded to tell about some rocks being thrown across the street while kids were waiting at the stop. No one was supposed to be aiming at anyone ("WE weren't throwing any rocks, Mom."***), but one kid was struck and cut on her forehead. She then needed to be helped - walked over to her grandmother's house. But not to worry the victim had stopped bleeding. They were both fine - victim and helper. Plenty of blood, but no tears. 

My child had come home to change clothes. 

I've probably told this story before in these pages. It's one of those experiences a little hard to forget. I suppose I thought it deserved another telling as we continue with the house archeology - digging up memories of our all our lives.

I hope you enjoy these cool days as we head towards the coming holidays. Don't throw any rocks. And don't forget - No blood, no tears.

NOTES:

* My friend is an amazing landscaper and I'll tell you her contact information elsewhere if you want to talk to her. I try not to post identifying information here unless folks are public figures and such.

** These are words you would almost rather hear than "I love you."

***I did learn but don't remember now who was throwing the rocks, but apparently NOT my children.