Lost in Translation

We ventured out to the children's museum this morning and had one of those mommy moments that is just worth documenting. 

While we were in the Native American room checking out the goods, Rexy had set up camp in the tepee you can see in the above picture.  Roanin was out loving on the buffalo.  Both of them got a burst of excitement about their respective pursuits, and decided at the exact same time to run to the other one and share.  Full force, these two slammed into one another at the door flaps of the tepee.  Roanin's mouth hit Rex's forehead (btw: can this kid get any more head injuries?  seriously...stinkin' big noggin...).  There were initial tears shed by both, but Rex pulled it together pretty quickly. 

Roanin, on the other hand, did not pull it together.  This is not surprising.  You see, we are noticing a slight case of hypochondria/over dramatic reactions within our big.  Five minutes later, I was somewhat able to strongarm him into stopping the mind numbing wailing he has perfected.  But the entire ride home, I was bombarded with cries and complaints about how hurt his lip and teeth were. 

Once we returned home, I attempted a classic mommy maneuver during lunch.  I began to explain the importance of only making a big deal of injuries when they are, indeed, a big deal.  I thought it was appropriate to drive this point home by telling the story of The Boy Who Cried Wolf.  This boy begs to have stories told to him....so I thought this would be perfect!  Go super-mommy!  Someone pull out the video recorder...take note of my teachable moment! 

So begins my detailed account of the little boy who was taking care of the sheep and always cried out that a wolf was near in order to get the attention of all the townspeople.  The people always came running, wanting to help the little boy.  But soon the people began to grow weary of this game.  They explained to the little boy how he should only cry wolf when he indeed saw a wolf, otherwise people might stop coming to help.  He did not learn his lesson, and continued to fake the poor, tired, overworked, under appreciated, and overall-beat-down people out.  Finally, one day the little boy did, in fact, see a wolf and began to scream.  Sadly, none of the townspeople came to his rescue because he had made such a big deal out of nothing so many times.  I drew a huge and beautiful conclusion about the way Roanin needs to be careful to only make a big deal about injuries if they are indeed a big deal.  Blister from new flip flops?  Not a big deal.  Rexy pushing you down in the grass?  Not a big deal.  Broken arm?  Big deal. 

After I was sure that I had just driven the point home, and accomplished my grand plan, I looked to Roanin for the reaction (i was thinking..."Oh, I get it Mom.  Now I understand that I should only cry and make it a big deal if it is a big deal.").

Roanin looks at me with a lightbulb moment look on his face and says, "I bet that wolf had a home in the woods.  That is where he would watch that little boy and the sheep.  And I bet he had really sharp teeth.  Don't you, Mom?"

Yep...I am calling this a success.  I think I am going to go poor myself a glass of wine to reward my excellent mothering.