Muses

Not your mother’s plaster of paris. Musing on why every child wants a cast.

 

Other than leaving my keys in my car,  yesterday I was here.

 

I was here with my son yesterday morning.

 

He was getting a cast on his wrist.

And being the mom-with-a-blog that I am, I started taking photographs through the high-powered lens of my iPhone.

The nurse wasn’t phased. “People do it all the time,” she said.

But are all these people mega-intuitive blogging journalists?

As I watched her wrap his arm, I got to thinking…how many times did I wish I would fall out of a tree?

 

She start by wrapping the limb in soft cotton (or what looked like soft cotton to my highly-trained, highly-intuitive mind.

 

Or snapped by the misplaced rock of a rocking chair or horribly wrenched out of socket by a riotous game of Pong.

But no.

I never had the pleasure of seeing a brand new white cast turn the color of the Mississippi River or be the center of attention at school for about 3 hours. And have everyone including the cutest guy in 5th grade sign my arm.

(I can’t name names anymore because people who knew me in 5th grade might read these things. They would stop and think…She thought he was cute?)

Whomever you might be thinking I did, no I didn’t.

 

There were all these cool colors.

They don’t make them out of plaster anymore. They fashion them out of fiberglass. That’s what’s up with all the cool colors.

And that’s why they are all bumpy and almost impossible to sign.

 

He chose red. I can only assume to match his school colors and football uniform.

 

 

It was an incredibly un-mysterious process.

So I vicarious got to experience a cast on my arm.

They still can’t get wet. Though aren’t surfboards made out of fiberglass?

Guess that will have to remain one of life’s question marks.

Did you ever have a cast?

Did you ever want one?

 

 

           

           

Subscribe Blog Posts to Your Email.

Archives