Walking home from school one day, Bonus tangoed with a patch of cacti.
It wasn't pretty. His hand was covered in about 100 spines. Fortunately, I had pulled the wagon up to the school for backpack hauling. He was able to moan and writhe in the wagon, which allowed us to get home and take care of his impaled hand that much faster.
The needles on this cacti were the furry, red kind that jump right off the plant and into your skin if you even think about approaching the plant. I know about these needles from my Uncle Steven's apartment. I was about 8 or 9, and I'm sure I howled like Bonus did.
When we reached our home, I slowly and carefully pulled the needles out of Bonus' skin one by one over a sink with tweezers so that they wouldn't wind up in anyone else's skin. It took about fifteen minutes to remove most of the needles. Fifteen minutes with wailing in my ear. And his talk about being worried if he would ever be able to play again. And comparisons of cacti needles to the bullets of a gun. Mr. Incredible and I don't call him Drama King behind his back for nothin'.
When he was finally as needle-free as he was going to be and the histrionics had appeared to die down, I bandaged him up, cleaned up our little mess and washed my own hands. Yes, I did manage to get a couple of the needles in my own hand.
As Bonus started in on his cheer-up lollipop, he tearfully asked RNR, "Now how will I cut my steak?"
And, yes, I turned my back and giggled. It's me. Of course, I laughed at my child.
Isn't it interesting that even though he had been rescued, cleaned, bandaged, and ployed with a cloyingly sweet treat he still found something to grumble about?
And isn't that just like us?
We can get all we ever wanted or needed and still find a reason to complain.
I realize this is not "rock science" (that's a special joke for someone I love), but isn't it really all about perspective? Just thinking today about the view from here.