Author's Rant and Apologies in Advance:
Ah! Damn hormones! For those not aware, I am now(checks watch) 2 months and some odd days away from delivering twin boys. So any mushiness in this story I blame on hormones and the maternal instincts kicking in.(Wonders if Splinter ever suffered from maternal hormones..) You have been warned!
And I promise to get to the other fics ASAP. (Really Carrie, I promise) SO much to do, so little time...
And BTW if you read this Carrie, don't faint. It is a Donatello story.sort of..
End Author's Rant..
Three years. It had been three years since I first stumbled upon the turtles I now think of as sons. I have so little experience with children.Well, to be honest, I had no experience with children and I know that I have already made so many mistakes.
It was my ignorance that caused Leonardo's broken arm a few months ago. How was I supposed to know that a child just learning to walk could also climb and subsequently fall? It was my inexperience that made Michaelangelo suffer through a bout of pneumonia. I hadn't been watching closely enough and he slipped out into the cold sewers in the middle of January. He was so close to death. His body so cold had begun to turn a bluish color. For weeks he struggled for every breath of life.
Because I make no excuses for myself, I know that it must be my fault that Donatello is not developing like the others. While the other three are running, Donatello is just beginning to walk and while the others are speaking complete sentences, Donatello has yet to say a word. I have tried to be patient and let him go at his own pace, but his progress is worrying me and I fear he may be backward in some way. I must not have paid enough attention to him over the years. He was always so quiet and easily forgotten in the background. Now, I have to make up for that and try to catch him up to his brothers. If he is to survive when he gets older, it will be up to me to teach him despite his limitations.
My lessons begin tonight as I have found a rare treat. An open box of cookies was thrown away and I quickly appropriated them for my sons. I gave them each one and watched as they examined the old broken toaster oven I had also found earlier that night. When I plugged it in, it did nothing. It did not heat up and the coils stayed cold and dark. It was useless unless I could fix it and there wasn't much of a chance of that happening.
"Do not touch it," I warned. "It may hurt you."
They all finished their snack leaving traces of crumbs all over the kitchen. Ready to put my plan into action, I took another treat from the box.
"Donatello, do you want another?" I asked him slowly holding up the food.
My young son stared up at me in confusion as his brothers looked on with undisguised jealousy.
"Just say 'cookie', Donatello, and you can have it," I pressed.
"Cookie!" Michaelangelo said jumping up and down and then reached out his hand. "Cookie! Cookie! Cookie!"
I sighed. "Just a moment, Michaelangelo. I was speaking to your brother." I turned back to Donatello who was smiling a peculiar smile. "Come now, Donatello. You can say it. Cookie."
I did not notice Michaelangelo becoming frustrated as he repeated his chant and finally he just grabbed the box and dumped it on the floor.
"Uh oh," Leonardo said shaking his head. "Cookies fall."
Raphael grinned. "Mikey falled the cookies. Mikey falled the cookies."
I glared at Michaelangelo who just smiled sheepishly. "I say cookie," he said softly.
I was silent for a moment and then nodded. "Yes you did. You may each have another." I realized I was being unfair to them and I hadn't the heart to reprimand Michaelangelo in any case. As the three of them dove for the cookies, I looked up and saw Donatello had left the kitchen. With a quick glance I noticed he had wandered to the living room to play by himself with some old blocks.
I shooed my remaining three sons away from the cookie mess on the floor. "Go play in the next room. And make sure to include Donatello." They ran for the living room and I bent down to clean up the mess.
That ploy wasn't as successful as I had planned. But I hoped his brothers would be able to coax him into playing with them. He tended to isolate himself. Not into another room but just out of the way and then he would watch. With that same peculiar smile as if he knew all the secrets of the world.
"Donny, play," I heard Raphael order. I looked up and saw him kick over the stack of blocks Donatello had made. Not exactly the kind of coercion I had in mind.
"Splinter said you play," Leonardo told him.
"Play run!" Michaelangelo yelled and for the next thirty seconds he and his two brothers ran around the living room screaming at the top of their lungs. I closed my eyes in pain and hoped this game would be short lived.
Much to my relief the screaming and running stopped and they all came to a halt in front of Donatello.
Raphael stamped his foot in irritation that Donatello hadn't moved. "Play beat up Donny," he huffed.
I jumped up and ran to the other room. "No, Raphael," I said sternly. "You must never hit your brothers when you are angry with them." I rubbed my head wearily. "It is late and time for bed. Go on to your room and I will be there in a moment."
With several grumbles, they all headed to their beds and after making sure they were comfortable, I returned to the kitchen. There were still cookie crumbs that needed cleaning and the toaster oven to be repaired. I sighed, feeling much too tired to do any of it tonight. I headed for the living room and sat down on the old worn chair to relax for a moment before...
A soft scratching sound caused me to jump. I blinked in confusion for a moment wondering how long I had dozed off and turned to the kitchen. Donatello was seated at the table with the toaster over in front of him. His hand was buried in the appliance. He must have gotten it stuck. With a strangled cry I leaped over the couch to run to him.
"Donatello," I gasped and pulled his hand out easily. Gripped in his fist was a small knife. I took it from him and set it down on the table, my own hand shaking as I noticed the oven was plugged in.
I turned back to my son who was staring at me in confusion and smacked his hand sharply. He gasped and his eyes filled with tears. "I told all of you not to touch this. That it may hurt you." My voice dropped to a whisper. "You could have been electrocuted. You could have been killed." I leaned over the table and drew in a shaky breath. This was just another example of how my ignorance could cause my sons harm.
I picked Donatello up and carried him back to his room. "You obey me and do not leave your bed again, Donatello." I kissed him gently and left the room. I wondered since Donatello could not speak, just how much he could understand what I said. He didn't realize that he was doing something dangerous.
I returned to the kitchen to make some tea. For once in my brief existence, I wished I had something a little stronger to calm my nerves. As I waited for the water to heat, I heard a humming noise. I turned to where the toaster oven sat, still plugged in. It was humming and the inside coils burned with a warm glow.
Ah! Damn hormones! For those not aware, I am now(checks watch) 2 months and some odd days away from delivering twin boys. So any mushiness in this story I blame on hormones and the maternal instincts kicking in.(Wonders if Splinter ever suffered from maternal hormones..) You have been warned!
And I promise to get to the other fics ASAP. (Really Carrie, I promise) SO much to do, so little time...
And BTW if you read this Carrie, don't faint. It is a Donatello story.sort of..
End Author's Rant..
Three years. It had been three years since I first stumbled upon the turtles I now think of as sons. I have so little experience with children.Well, to be honest, I had no experience with children and I know that I have already made so many mistakes.
It was my ignorance that caused Leonardo's broken arm a few months ago. How was I supposed to know that a child just learning to walk could also climb and subsequently fall? It was my inexperience that made Michaelangelo suffer through a bout of pneumonia. I hadn't been watching closely enough and he slipped out into the cold sewers in the middle of January. He was so close to death. His body so cold had begun to turn a bluish color. For weeks he struggled for every breath of life.
Because I make no excuses for myself, I know that it must be my fault that Donatello is not developing like the others. While the other three are running, Donatello is just beginning to walk and while the others are speaking complete sentences, Donatello has yet to say a word. I have tried to be patient and let him go at his own pace, but his progress is worrying me and I fear he may be backward in some way. I must not have paid enough attention to him over the years. He was always so quiet and easily forgotten in the background. Now, I have to make up for that and try to catch him up to his brothers. If he is to survive when he gets older, it will be up to me to teach him despite his limitations.
My lessons begin tonight as I have found a rare treat. An open box of cookies was thrown away and I quickly appropriated them for my sons. I gave them each one and watched as they examined the old broken toaster oven I had also found earlier that night. When I plugged it in, it did nothing. It did not heat up and the coils stayed cold and dark. It was useless unless I could fix it and there wasn't much of a chance of that happening.
"Do not touch it," I warned. "It may hurt you."
They all finished their snack leaving traces of crumbs all over the kitchen. Ready to put my plan into action, I took another treat from the box.
"Donatello, do you want another?" I asked him slowly holding up the food.
My young son stared up at me in confusion as his brothers looked on with undisguised jealousy.
"Just say 'cookie', Donatello, and you can have it," I pressed.
"Cookie!" Michaelangelo said jumping up and down and then reached out his hand. "Cookie! Cookie! Cookie!"
I sighed. "Just a moment, Michaelangelo. I was speaking to your brother." I turned back to Donatello who was smiling a peculiar smile. "Come now, Donatello. You can say it. Cookie."
I did not notice Michaelangelo becoming frustrated as he repeated his chant and finally he just grabbed the box and dumped it on the floor.
"Uh oh," Leonardo said shaking his head. "Cookies fall."
Raphael grinned. "Mikey falled the cookies. Mikey falled the cookies."
I glared at Michaelangelo who just smiled sheepishly. "I say cookie," he said softly.
I was silent for a moment and then nodded. "Yes you did. You may each have another." I realized I was being unfair to them and I hadn't the heart to reprimand Michaelangelo in any case. As the three of them dove for the cookies, I looked up and saw Donatello had left the kitchen. With a quick glance I noticed he had wandered to the living room to play by himself with some old blocks.
I shooed my remaining three sons away from the cookie mess on the floor. "Go play in the next room. And make sure to include Donatello." They ran for the living room and I bent down to clean up the mess.
That ploy wasn't as successful as I had planned. But I hoped his brothers would be able to coax him into playing with them. He tended to isolate himself. Not into another room but just out of the way and then he would watch. With that same peculiar smile as if he knew all the secrets of the world.
"Donny, play," I heard Raphael order. I looked up and saw him kick over the stack of blocks Donatello had made. Not exactly the kind of coercion I had in mind.
"Splinter said you play," Leonardo told him.
"Play run!" Michaelangelo yelled and for the next thirty seconds he and his two brothers ran around the living room screaming at the top of their lungs. I closed my eyes in pain and hoped this game would be short lived.
Much to my relief the screaming and running stopped and they all came to a halt in front of Donatello.
Raphael stamped his foot in irritation that Donatello hadn't moved. "Play beat up Donny," he huffed.
I jumped up and ran to the other room. "No, Raphael," I said sternly. "You must never hit your brothers when you are angry with them." I rubbed my head wearily. "It is late and time for bed. Go on to your room and I will be there in a moment."
With several grumbles, they all headed to their beds and after making sure they were comfortable, I returned to the kitchen. There were still cookie crumbs that needed cleaning and the toaster oven to be repaired. I sighed, feeling much too tired to do any of it tonight. I headed for the living room and sat down on the old worn chair to relax for a moment before...
A soft scratching sound caused me to jump. I blinked in confusion for a moment wondering how long I had dozed off and turned to the kitchen. Donatello was seated at the table with the toaster over in front of him. His hand was buried in the appliance. He must have gotten it stuck. With a strangled cry I leaped over the couch to run to him.
"Donatello," I gasped and pulled his hand out easily. Gripped in his fist was a small knife. I took it from him and set it down on the table, my own hand shaking as I noticed the oven was plugged in.
I turned back to my son who was staring at me in confusion and smacked his hand sharply. He gasped and his eyes filled with tears. "I told all of you not to touch this. That it may hurt you." My voice dropped to a whisper. "You could have been electrocuted. You could have been killed." I leaned over the table and drew in a shaky breath. This was just another example of how my ignorance could cause my sons harm.
I picked Donatello up and carried him back to his room. "You obey me and do not leave your bed again, Donatello." I kissed him gently and left the room. I wondered since Donatello could not speak, just how much he could understand what I said. He didn't realize that he was doing something dangerous.
I returned to the kitchen to make some tea. For once in my brief existence, I wished I had something a little stronger to calm my nerves. As I waited for the water to heat, I heard a humming noise. I turned to where the toaster oven sat, still plugged in. It was humming and the inside coils burned with a warm glow.