A good rule for life: Never mess with a boy named Bopeep.
Fisher learned this the hard way at day camp the other day. Bopeep, apparently more interested in harassing campmates than finding his sheep, sat down in Fisher’s chair when Fisher got up to get more art supplies for his project. Fisher asked him to move. Bopeep refused. Fisher DEMANDED that he move. Bopeep shoved Fisher into a bookcase.
Fisher responded by coming up behind Bopeep and biting him on the back.
(Hey, kids! Want to get a whole roomful of grownups really incredibly upset really fast? Just grab some other kid and give ’em a bite!)
The next day at camp, Fisher got into a shoving match with a kid named Anakin. "Anakin?" I asked him. "Are you sure?"
He was positive. Rhys confirmed it. "Anakin’s not very nice," he volunteered, "but he’s not as mean as Cookie."
"Cookie’s a boy. He’s older than us and he’s really mean. But I made a new friend today; she’s really nice. Her name is… what is it again, Fisher?"
Anakin. Bopeep. Cookie. Dreama (who, to my disappointment, doesn’t appear to be lastnamed Littledream). It’s the alphabetical march of double-take names.
But camp moves ever onward, and yesterday was Fisher and Rhys’ last day. Jim and I planned to celebrate with lunch at our lovely local wine bar/shop Lupa; but as we languished in the @#$!!! North Portland DMV trying to register our cars and get Oregon licenses, my phone rang.
"Molly? This is Darcy at the community center. Fisher has had a bit of an accident and we think he may have broken his arm."
Cue record-scratch noise as our luxurious winebibbing afternoon plans go poofing away in a bit of emergency room-colored smoke.
Turns out the "accident" involved Fisher playing a game of tag and, while fleeing his determined pursuers, encountering a campmate sitting stubbornly at the top of the slide and not going down. He asked her twice to move, and she refused. So he started to step over her legs and get onto the slide.
She pushed him off the top of the slide. Eight-foot drop. He broke the fall with his left arm and the side of his face.
Three hours and four X-rays later, we discovered that his elbow’s not broken, just sprained. So at least we’re not rivaling any records for "most limbs broken in a summer" yet… thank goodness.
There has been quite a bit of Fisher stomping about growling at the pain in his arm, though. Would it be a bad bad thing to dope the kid up on Tylenol with codeine (which was prescribed for him) and send him off to bed with a stack of Star Wars comic books? Or, better yet, to pop a fistful of said pills myself and go settle down for a lo-o-oong summer’s nap?