Fate is a sadistic bee-yatch..

Sometimes bragging about your child can really bite you in the ass. I couldn't help reflecting on the fact that my post about Justin's incredible changes and improvements was at the top of my blog while he was in the midst of a terrible tantrum.

Note to self: Justin still does not like showers, no matter how much he enjoys the water park. Do not try to force him to wash the sand out of his hair while camping. He will NOT calm down. It WILL sound like you are physically abusing your child (or worse) and you will feel like the worst mother in the world. Also, remember that a 9 year old's screams to "STOP!!! PLEASE STOPPPP!!!!!" within the campground's tiled shower will echo, echo, echo...

Moments before I assaulted him with shampoo and risked getting the police called for child abuse because, seriously? It sounded like I was beating that child instead of just rubbing soap on his head and rinsing with a shower nozzle that wasn't detachable like the one at home....

And then, just before we left Yellowstone Lake, as my sister and I were taking the little ones to the "real" bathroom, Justin and S were allowed to ride their scooters down the hill and back up to the bathrooms. Little bit of freedom, you know? We gave them the cautionary tales of how to be careful as they were wearing shorts and t-shirts, etc. and off they went, confident that they were going to be JUST FINE.

HA. Ha, I say. I came out of the bathroom with Corinne only to see my eldest boy walking up the hill with blood pouring off of each appendage! S calls out, "Justin got hurt!" which was funny in that it is SO OBVIOUS. Amazingly enough, Justin wasn't crying or anything! Just walking along as though he hadn't a care in the world, even though his shoe was filling with blood. I tried my best to clean the embedded dirt from the 3 inch abrasions with the icy faucet water from the drinking fountain. To which Justin, of course, screamed bloody murder! Yay... I couldn't wait to get him back to the campsite and really clean it. Knew that was gonna be fun...

This was the only picture I could take as he was literally screaming and thrashing about. My boy, he doesn't take to being taken care of well. Had I left his injuries alone, he wouldn't have cared. Alas, I care a bit too much to allow him to walk around with dirt, gravel and bits of God knows what else in his open wounds. At least this time, as he was screaming "You're hurting me! Stop touching me!" at the top of his lungs, people could walk up and SEE that we were trying to tend his scrapes. No CPS was called. Though, it might have been a welcome help as then THEY could have cleaned his injuries!!

Don't let that smile fool you. Moments later, I had to submerge him in luke warm water to really, truly clean the dirt out. If I thought he was pissed off at the campsite, I was mistaken. I will take a moment here and pat myself on the back for the extremely patient way I took care of him. Never once did I shriek back at him that I DID know the pain he was feeling (try birthing 3 kids) and only repeated, mantra-like, that I couldn't stand for his pain to become worse if they became infected. Over and over.

And over.