Boys can be rough. Our boys wrestle all the time. They also smack each other on regular occasions. It's a rare thing when we're driving somewhere and I don't have to tell someone to keep his hands to himself. They cuff each other at the dinner table and kick at each other while they're watching TV. The other night all five of them got into a huge wrestling match that raged through the entire downstairs of our home. We'd hear occasional crashes as they bumped into things and knocked things over, but fortunately nothing was broken.
Unfortunately that's not always the case. Monday morning my eleven-year-old and my eight-year-old were wrestling in the family room. I heard the eight-year-old, Nicky, let out a yell and then start crying. I expected to hear him say, "I'm telling Mom!" but instead he just kept crying. So I went downstairs and found a very sheepish Paul standing in the family room. As soon as he saw me, he said, "We were just wrestling around and I accidentally hurt him." My ten-year-old piped up just then to inform me, "I had nothing to do with it."
I found Nicky crying in the living room, favoring his right shoulder. Three hours of emergency room waiting later, we found out that he had a cracked clavicle (collarbone). He's complained some of the pain, but mostly he's enjoying all the attention. I almost suspect he thinks the pain is worth it if it gives him all this attention. He played it up for every hospital employee that he encountered. As each one asked him how he got hurt, he answered in a martyred tone, "Wrestling. Never trust an older brother!" I almost think he'd be willing to go through it all again for the chance to have attention lavished on him. Little does he realize that, with four older brothers, he's probably going to get another chance at this eventually. Boys!