One of my favorite blogs to read is Confessions of a Pioneer Woman.
She is one of the most popular bloggers out there and with reason. She keeps it real.
Four kids, raising them in America's heartland on a ranch after spending college in a big city with big plans to live and work in a big city. Then love intervened.
I read her blog nearly daily and often find myself nodding in agreement even though I don't live on a ranch, I don't have four kids and I have no intention of homeschooling my kids -- not that there is anything wrong with that. Still, as a mom despite all the differences, I feel connected and somewhat relieved when I occasionally get a glimpse of her home in the many pictures she posts. She is far from perfect and admits it.
Never miss a local story.
The other day, I felt a special kinship with her daughter when she mentioned that one of her kids has a strange fear of getting a splinter.
Um hmm... I nodded my head. I understand this. I too have a fear of splinters.
For me, my biggest problem is that they often occur on fingers. And anything stuck in a finger/hand/toe/foot just gives reason for shivers to go up and down my spine.
I worked in a dermatologist's office through college and after college while I was trying to figure out what to do with my life. (I learned then that medical school was not it.) I seriously used to hide in the bathroom when someone would come in with a mysterious ailment or something stuck in a finger or foot out of fear that the physician I worked with would ask me to come in and help him (which he often did). On the occasion I wasn't able to escape the finger or foot ailment of the day, I would stand next to him in the exam room with the willies running up and down my spine.
There once was a lady who stepped on a sewing needle. I will stop there because I may not be able to continue to type if I wrote out the ordeal due to uncontrollable shaking stemming from the trauma. (My shaking.)
My husband is the dedicated sliver remover in the house. Not only from the kids, but also from me. And I have to look away even as I hold my son's hand still.
I had my fear of slivers as a kid, too. In order to combat this, my parents told me that if I left a sliver to fester, that body part would fall off.
I spent one whole night in first grade knowing I was going to lose my knee after climbing up a board at my best friend's house and seeing multiple little teeny tiny slivers in it afterward. I certainly didn't want the slivers to be removed -- that would be painful. But how in the world would I ever explain to my mom when I got up the next day and didn't have a knee -- or worse case, if I don't have a knee does that mean my lower leg would fall off?
My knee didn't fall off (yet). The slivers must have eventually worked their way out. But my fear of slivers remains.