He didn't cry wolf this time

My oldest son, we'll call him G-man, is seven. He decided, on a misguided whim, to see whether the stove element was still hot moments after I removed a boiling pot from it. You can guess the answer to that question.

Horrible burn, lots of cold water for hours, lots of kisses, soothing him till he fell asleep clutching a not-quite-frozen ice pack later and he's sporting the battle scars with a sort of pride.

He relished showing off the wound on his thumb today to people at Mass and to our neighbours (my photo is terrible but as my husband aptly described it, picture those really fake looking grill marks on tofu dogs) . G-man told everyone of his folly and shared with them that he may have in fact a genetic predisposition to testing for immense quantities of heat. When his father was about the same age, he tested the temperature of an ash pile by sticking his hand into it and discovering that it was, in fact, smouldering. I, his mother, at the age of three decided to see if the matches just snuffed out by my pipe-smoking father and grandfather were still hot by sticking them on my tongue. Ooooh boy.

Here's to hoping G-man takes after us for more than just rash, stupid decision-making and self-injury. But you know, he can spin a good story and his sense of comedy was right on.