For the love of Helmets and Candy

On our way to get Adrian's hair cut (due to the fact that I'm pretty sure I observed two very large birds eyeing his exorbitant abundance of curls, contemplating their next place of residence) he and I were discussing the purpose of helmet wearing.  A discussion that has happened before (a few times) however one cannot emphasize enough the importance of protecting your brain.

Playing with our neighbour's dirt bike toy that he asked to borrow that morning that also included a dirt bike rider wearing protective head gear, he asked, "Why is this guy wearing a helmet?"

"Anytime you ride on a bike or motorcycle you must wear a helmet because it keeps you safe...in case of an accident."

"Or you wear one on an ATV.  Like when my ankle got burned."

He was referring to an incident that occurred last summer while riding a child sized ATV that had an area of extremely hot, exposed muffler pipe (cause that's child friendly - this was not known by the owner's of the ATV or by us just to be clear).  His ankle happened to touch upon this area and basically singed about an inch or so round area of skin on the inside of his ankle...and melted the sole of his water shoe.

It was a terrible burn and although it healed well with no scarring, the experience is clearly scarred upon his little brain as a traumatic experience.  No doubt.

So, his reference to the ankle burning incident wasn't totally in sync with our conversation and though I'm pretty sure he got the gist I felt the need to clarify, "Well, helmets are more for protecting your head than your ankle honey."

"When my ankle got hurt I got candy.  Who gave me candy Mumma?"

You see where these discussions go with 3 year olds (or not, if you do not have one)....hither tither, here and there, bits and pieces.  

Mostly never what one would consider a normal pattern of conversation.

"I don't know hon, I wasn't there right when it happened." I was not in the vicinity when the event occurred but I was the one that got to hold his screaming, writhing body. As everyone knows Mumma's are always the first to be requested when such agony is present.

He ponders and then states, "I think it was Daddy.  Yeah...it was Daddy."

I respond dryly, "Yes, Daddy's always good for giving you candy isn't he?"

I look at him in the rear view mirror and he looks out his side window.

"Yeah.  Better than you."

I could nothing but guffaw.

Yes, I guffawed.

Because there is nothing more refreshing nor funnier than the truth at times.

And how interesting that he remembers the candy given to him by his father when he was in so much pain but not me, his MOTHER, the one who carried him for 9+ months and delivered his almost 10 lb LARGE headed body, holding him, comforting him, kissing away his tears and almost sobbing along with him while he screamed in agony.

Oh no.

It's all about the candy.

And you know what?

I kinda get it.

Sweet tooth's.  They must run in the family or something.