My Arms Don't Want to Help

I have 2 more days of the vacation story, and I'll get to it eventually. But this week has been a week already and it's only Tuesday. I've been in a funk and can't seem to break out of it.

This morning, my hubby asked me to do something and without thinking, I replied, "I can't. My arms are broken." And we both laughed because we both KNOW I'll do it. I always try to do what I can to help people out; I just don't always do it with the right attitude. As soon as I said my cute, short retort, a story came to my mind of my son when he was 4 years old.

On Mr T's 4th birthday I took him for his 4 year check up. I figured it didn't matter if it was on his birthday because shots happen when they are 5 years old, and we wouldn't be celebrating his birthday until later that night. Boy was I wrong. The doctor did all her "examining" and then suggested that we go ahead and do the shots. I figured it was a good idea since I was sure he would bellow and scream more at age 5 than 4 years old. The shots were given, the screams were yelled, and we left with Mr T sobbing on my shoulder. We got home, and he immediately went to the sofa to watch tv while I got lunch. I figured I would treat him and let him eat in front of the tv since it was his birthday; aren't I great? I brought him his lunch and he said that I was going to have to feed him. I asked why and he replied that his arms didn't work. Then he said, "See?" Imagine my 4 year old sitting there with his arms at his side not moving, pretending in his mind to try to move them. "See?" he said. It was the most pitiful thing I had ever seen.

I am sure that my hubby thought I was just as pitiful this morning. And don't worry. Everyone I talked to on Mr T's birthday fussed at me for getting his shots on his birthday. I know it was a horrible thing to do.