Pain and Zero Gain

Last night, I found myself at the mercy of my youngest child. Our family room couches are being officially retired from this household. Years of enduring "cushion towers" and jumping children have taken their toll. Because of the extreme abuse they have endured, the springs were popping through the thin piece of fabric separating them from the outside world, allowing a collection of things to be lost inside the couch via the tears and holes.  Since the trash service is picking them up today, I cut the remaining pieces of fabric from the couch and emptied the booty from within; combs, pens, pencils, cheerios, a tiny doll, change, etc. The way the couches were made, I had to reach up into the arm of the couch to find any lost items in there.  Secretly, I was hoping to find my missing ipod from over a year ago, but no such luck.  However, I probed every inch of those couches to be sure. During my probe, I drew my hand back in pain.  A large splinter had lodged itself into my index finger. I pulled at the exposed piece of wood, and of course it broke off. The only way to get it out now, was for me to squeeze my finger hard with my other hand, so that the tip of the splinter was exposed. Only problem was, I needed a third hand to pull it out with tweezers.  This is where my youngest comes into play since she was the only one at home with me.  I asked her if she could help mommy with the splinter.  "Sure mom," came the confident reply.  I handed her the tweezers, blocking from my mind that she was not very good at the game Operation, and I squeezed my finger.  "Can you see the splinter?" Again confidence oozed, "Yep, I will get it." She grasped at the splinter, and a quarter inch of skin on my finger.  Wow. Lots of pain.  I had her stop, and redirected, "You really need to try and grab JUST the splinter.  Not all of the skin around it." She studied the splinter intently, "I can do it.  Don't worry mom, this will only hurt a second." I heard her echoing words that I had spoken on many occasions, like when I ripped off band-aids or detangled massive knots in her hair.  When I said those words, 9 times out of 10 I knew I was lying. Ugh.  She attacked the finger again, and I am fairly certain she pushed the splinter further into my finger. "Okay stop!" I hollered. She said, "I almost had it!" Not even close, from where I was standing, but I whimpered "I know, you are doing a really good job." My finger was throbbing now.  The splinter hurt to begin with, but at this point, a much larger area of my finger was in pain. I suggested that we just stop, as it seemed to be the stubborn sort of splinter, but she insisted she could get it. I allowed her one last go. She dug the tweezers into my finger again, this time drawing blood. Yelping, I announced, "I think you got it!" Nope, she didn't get it, but I would rather suffer the pain of the splinter than this.  About 20 minutes later my husband arrived home, and in a hushed voice I beckoned him to the bathroom to attempt the splinter retrieval.  He DID get it, but my finger still hurts today from the attempted extraction from my daughter.   This has caused me to rethink however, my use of pain measurement, when it comes to my kids.