Last night when I got home, 3 year old Bongo, showed me something alarming – a giant burn blister on his middle finger.

“Look mommy,” he says nonchalantly, “I burned myself,” as if a second degree burn is no big.  Being the reasonable and sane person I am, I jumped into freak-out mode.  At least in my head.

“Where did he get this?”  “When did he get it?”  And, since it happened at school, “Why the hell didn’t I get an ouch report!?!”  “How could this have happened without them knowing, and why didn’t I get a report?!”  All of those questions were in my head of course, but I did ask him calmly when and how he got it.

“Today.  I was making food with Miss D (his assistant teacher), and I touched it and it was hot.”

Well that seemed weird.  They don’t have a microwave there, and I doubt there is food hot enough to give him this kind of burn.  This is preschool, not Le Cordon Blue!  I press further for more details.  It’ll be harder for him to lie and make up stories if I press for more details.

“What kind of food?”

Doesn’t miss a beat.  “Apples and pasta.”

Ok, well certainly with those details, it must be true.  Weird, but true.  Maybe they had a special event?

I was filled with at least a small amount of righteous indignation, and vowed to talk to his teacher at morning drop-off.   

However, when we got to the school, it was one of those mornings where freaking NOTHING goes right, and by the time we arrived to the school (15 mins late), he was having a shit fit about me bringing the wrong jacket, so I screamed over the noise, “Please have his teacher call me when she can!” and left. 

When I got to work, she hadn’t yet called, so I decided I had to call her.  I needed this mystery solved.

“Hi, this is Bongo’s mom, I was just wondered if you knew how he got the blister on his hand?  He said he was cooking food with Miss D?  I’m just wondering, because if it’s not a burn blister, we can treat it differently, than if it is…”  I needed to appear concerned, but not accusatory.  I love his teachers, I just needed an answer.

Her, puzzled.  “Hmmm, we don’t have hot food here.  We don’t even have a microwave.”

Me: “He said something about pasta and apples?”

Her: Laughs, “We didn’t have pasta or apples yesterday.  Maybe it’s not a burn blister?  Maybe he got it on the monkey bars or something?”

Me, puzzled.  “Maybe so.  Well…  Maybe if you could just ask around?”

Her: “Definitely.  I’ll ask Miss D and call you back.”

Five minutes later she called back.

“He told us he got it on the turtle lamp in his room.” 

Righteous.Indignation.Shattered. 

That little liar!  With his story and details and finger pointing!

Me: pause… “Oh wow ok, thanks.”  Nervous laugh.  We said our goodbyes and hung up.

I have no idea when he got it.

It happened without my knowing.

I’m not sure I should be impressed or concerned about the level of detail in his elaborate story. 

At least I know his school isn’t endangering him with objects hot enough to create second degree burns.  We do that just fine at home, thank you.