Back Pain

A week ago, Ella's back was hurting her. She said, "Can you give Jack a bath, my back hurts." I filled his tub, put him in the water, started to get the soap ready, leaned over the tub, and promptly threw my back out. Bad. The worst I've done in quite a number of years. I spent the better part of the next twenty-four hours lying on my back. Jane was often concerned for me. A couple days later, I saw my friend Maclain. I told him I threw my back out. He said he'd never done that before and asked me what it feels like. I told him it's pretty much like what you see on TV or in movies when someone throws their back out. It's actually portrayed pretty spot on. Namely, your hand flies to your back and you throw your head back, eyes wild with pain and fear. Basically, if someone was watching from a distance, and a car backfired at the right moment, they would think you'd been shot with a .44 magnum. And you feel like you're about 85 years old at that moment. That's the funny part for me--not ha-ha funny, but ironic funny. The first time I threw out my back, I was in the fourth grade on the soccer field. Back then, when I saw how the coach looked at me, I thought he thought I was a weirdo. Knowing what I know now, I think his expression was more a reflection of how sorry he felt for me, seeing me throw my back out for the first time when I didn't even have all my permanent teeth.

So a few days ago, Sharon brought a bag of toys for Jane. Jane was so excited. Fisher-Price toys. Pet shop toys. She played from the moment the toys arrived until we dragged her (screaming) away from them to put her to bed.Here's the sad part (her screaming while being dragged to bed ceased being sad a long time ago). At one point during her marathon play session, she stood up, walked over to us, and complained of back pain. Then she went back and continued playing. Flashbacks of that autumn afternoon on the soccer field, and me splayed on the grass like I'd been shot with a four oh four magnum sprung to my mind, and I think my expression probably looked a lot like my coach's. I guess that's what we do--we pass on our pains and sorrows to our children. C'est la vie. Sorry, Jane.

Speaking of toys--but no longer backs--Jane has the most idiotic toy you could ever imagine. It looks like this:It's not the penny. That's just for perspective. Although, I could've just used Jane's cheek for size comparison:No, it's that little green ball you see pinched between her fingers. What makes it so idiotic? That fact that she bawls her head off when it's lost, and, as you see, it's quite easy to lose. I was introduced to it one afternoon, when I found Jane crying inconsolably in the kitchen. I asked what was wrong. She said her green ball rolled under the dryer. I got down to look for it and discovered many different items, a few of which might be described as a "green ball." I asked her if any of them were what she was talking about. Nope. She kept crying. I looked again, and lo and behold, there it was. I gave it to her and she was happy. She wanted to take it to bed with her for her nap. She said Mommy said she could. I said no. Mommy was wrong on this one. More crying. But I figured, this crying was better than the crying that would occur when she woke up and the ball was nowhere to be found.

There it is, just some lame tales of tiny toys and back pain. And a picture of Jane coloring that has nothing to do with any of that.