(This archived post was originally posted on 11/07/07. I thought it might be a treat for those of you who enjoy a good limerick. I'll be back from my bloggy vacation on Monday, September 8.)
Socks he did like to wear.
Though he had quite a few.
He chose these two.
Making his mother pull out her hair.
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Okay, I'm really not here. I'm not, I'm on my bloggy vacation. Except that my haiku was a finalist in Shannon at Rocks In My Dryer's Back To School Haiku contest, and I want to win...badly. (Just to be fair, all the other finalists, likely want to win, too.)
If you love me, and don't have any singular attachment to any of the other finalists...and want to make me really, really happy...go vote for my haiku. Even though I'm really not here.
The poll closes on Thursday morning.
Love ya dearly!
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First of all, I recently received two prizes that I won in the most recent bloggy giveaway.
My kids have already read and reread these. And I've tucked this away in a closet for a little girl who's going to be super thrilled and excited when it arrives on Christmas morning.
Thanks to Deb and Erin for hosting such fab giveaways!
Also, I was tagged for a meme by Melanie at Mommy Doodles awhile back and haven't found the time, so I'm taking it now to tell you 6 quirky things about myself.
1. Link the person who tagged you.
2. Mention the rules on your blog.
3. Tell about six unspectacular quirks you possess.
4. Tag six following bloggers by linking them.
5. Leave a comment on each of the tagged blogger's blogs letting them know they have been tagged.
As for number 4-5, if you're reading this and haven't participated yet, consider yourself tagged by me. I really just want to know all about you, my friends.
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I'm being feature in The Sampler today, over at 5 Minutes for Mom. My post is about a question my daughter asked me, in the middle of a busy day. "What does it mean to be a mommy?" It's also about how I found the answer.
And boy did I need the reminder today. I'm wondering how much quality mom time I'm getting in with a feverish two-year old, 56 loads of dirty laundry, Meet the Teacher night, our church Scottish festival immediately after, and trying not to ruin the Scottish sticky pudding that I volunteered to make.
I'm gonna have to have a talk with myself about my commitments...but only if I remember to add it to my list.
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I'm walking the halls at my husband's school, running errands, helping him laminate posters, chasing my own children out of his colleagues' rooms.
There's an interesting atmosphere in the school. A strange dynamic that I can't quite put my finger on.
Even without any children in the building, (except for teacher's kids...who don't count...because they are essentially unpaid work crews) there's an anticipation for the next year. It radiates from every room as teachers work on various tasks to get ready for their new students.
The school is drowning in bulletin board borders, die cut shapes, and school supplies. There's the distinct aroma of brand new crayons, freshly sharpened pencils, and a smidgen of hot glue and copy paper.
The teachers ooh and ahh over the treasures others have found for their own students over the summer. They show off their new bean bag chairs for reading centers, models of the solar system for their ceilings, and tons of other items purchased to enrich their classrooms.
Pieces of conversations drift towards me as I walk the halls.
"This year, I really want to..."
"Do you think the kids will like...."
"...and books they really can relate to..."
"...the best year yet."
Everywhere the chatter centers on the new faces soon to be arriving in the classrooms.
Possibility and hope drift out of the open classroom doors and swirl through the hallways ready to settle on any unsuspecting student that walks through the door of the school.
A little settles on me and I begin to think.
The power that these teachers have is unimaginable. They will change lives this next year. Students will understand not only times tables and grammar. Vital lessons about themselves, their peers, and how to find their way in the world will be realized in these halls, in these rooms.
There will be tough moments. Moments when the teachers will wonder why they picked this profession. They'll doubt their competency because a ten-year-old boy tells them they are the worst teacher in the world or because a student hates to read. The new teachers will wonder if someone more experienced could bring understanding. The veteran teachers will worry that someone who is up on the latest trends could do a better job.
And then a student will say, "I get it", and the teacher will sigh, sit back, and smile. Their entire year will have been made. That one bit of almost praise and near recognition will sustain them until the last day, when books are packed back up, lights are shut back off, and they begin again... planning for the next year's students.
---With all the back to school stuff, I missed participating in my favorite weekly carnival, Sincerely 'Fro Me To You hosted at We Are THAT Family. Go visit it, there are some great posts over there, (including Kristen in a bathing suit). In the meantime, I'll work hard to find something truly humiliating to show you next Thursday.
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"You can't wait until we go to school again", my daughter says matter-of-factly and out of the blue.
I stutter a response.
"No, no, I just...I mean...school is a good...I'm...not as good."
She waits patiently.
I try again.
"Boose, I love having you guys here, but I know that you don't get as much excitement or opportunities to learn new things when you're with me."
She protests, "We learn lots of things. You're our most important teacher."
I sigh and look down at my hands. When did she get so fancy and philosophical?
"Boose, I'm sorry if I've made you feel like I'll be happy when you guys go back to school. I'll miss you guys so much while you're gone. The last few weeks have been rough, and I haven't been handling them well. I love you, your sister, and your brothers more than anything else in this world. I've just been grumpy and unaware of my blessings."
She smiles, "That's okay. Will you let me help you clean the kitchen?"
And I'm left with a hint in the back of my head that all of this has been an attempt to get me to spend more time with her. So I wash and she loads and we talk about school starting. Things she's concerned about. Things she's excited for.
And I become very grateful that cranky mommies get second chances too.
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Dear Target,
I love you...I'm not going to lie. I come to see you often when I have no call to, no reason to step through your doors.
I've been loyal through many trials. I even saw you through your ridiculous refusal to allow Salvation Army bellringers. I defended you, insisting you still cared.
But now, my devotion wavers. And I wanted you to know why.
School supply shopping with you has lost its charm. I'm annoyed by some of your practices and if our relationship is to continue, I've got to clear the air.
I hope we can get past these differences, because you've meant a lot to me, and my bank statements reveal that I've meant a lot to you, too.
Sincerely,
Sarah (World's Greatest Mommy?)
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When I thought about having children, I knew that there would be a lot of time and money involved in raising them.
I knew that being a mother of five would leave me stretched for time.
I knew that more children meant higher food bills.
I forgot about where having five children would leave me when it came to back-to-school shopping.
Ever tried to find 5 perfect backpacks, 20 plastic folders with brads, and 25 sets of school uniforms that aren't "itchy".
That's what I'll be doing tomorrow.
If you don't hear from me...will someone please come rescue me?
I'll be weeping in the school supply section at Target surrounded by 1 billion bradless folders.
There was a portion of my life not so long ago when I was closer to losing my mind than ever before.
I had a 5 year-old son, a 3 year-old daughter and then the two characters in the picture, aged 2 and 1.
Having four kids who were still toddlers was tough on me. I'm afraid I didn't have much patience during that time.
I distinctly remember this picture. Some dear friends of ours had invited us to the lake. They cooked for us. We used their RV. We swam a little. We flew kites. We had a blast.
But as is likely with a bunch of toddlers, there were squabbles. I remember how irritated I was when Bal started crying because Nod got to play with the pinwheel first.
I took this picture to someday show Bal how ridiculous he looked while he was crying. I was hoping he'd look at it in shame and apologize for throwing a temper tantrum.
Instead he just looked at the picture and said to his brother, "Nod why were you so mean to me that day?"
We'll give it a few more years.
---For more Sincerely 'Fro Me To You posts, visit We Are THAT Family.
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This story is something that I've wanted to tell for a long time. It's true. It's about a very random person during a very random part of my life, who had a huge impact on me, without doing anything huge at all. (Part I can be found here.)
The day that Mrs. Sands' nieces flew in was a day of anticipation. I helped Mrs. Sands get her home spic and span. My mom baked some treats and made some lemonade. We left Mrs. Sands alone before they arrived so that she could spend quality time with them, and retreated across the street to meet them later that day.
Meeting them was a little awkward, but it seemed appropriate to hug them. After all, we felt that their aunt was part of our family. They chatted about the trip. They commented on how much they'd missed their aunt. Mrs. Sands was quiet but smiling for most of the visit.
That night, one of her nieces came over to talk to my parents. They sat on our front porch together while I listened through my parent's bedroom window.
"The auctioneer will be coming tomorrow," I heard a voice say. "The auction will be Saturday. We'd like you all to come tomorrow morning. She has some goodbye gifts to give."
I was stunned. I hadn't thought about how the nieces would help Mrs. Sands. I'd never thought that she would be saying goodbye.
Tears were streaming down my face, and I hadn't even said the words to my friend yet.
Later my mom found me and realized what I'd overheard, she tried to explain.
But it didn't make sense.
I do not remember in the slightest what Mrs. Sands gave to me as a farewell gift. I avoided her over the next several days...not wanting to say goodbye.
For two days an auctioneer auctioned off most of Mrs. Sands' treasures. I walked around during the auctions, watching groups of people bid to own part of her life.
Finally the only thing left to sell, was her home. I knew she was inside the house while everyone stood outside to bid. I knew that soon it would be over. I wanted to give her a gift. I wanted to buy her house and keep it safe with all of her treasures. I wanted to find a way to help her overcome the disease attacking her mind.
But there was nothing I could do.
And then I thought of something. Something she'd taught me.
I made my way through the hundreds of people watching the auctioneer about to begin. I walked up the steps and past the beautiful porch swing. I opened the door and stepped inside to see a home bare of most of its possessions. Sitting on the couch, alone, was my dear friend. With nothing left to offer, I sat down next to her and slipped my hand in hers.
As the auctioneer's loud voice came in through the windows, I fought back tears and told her stories. Stories she'd told me about life. Stories she'd told me about love.
I held her hand as the bidding continued and my voice filled the void between us.
All too soon, everything was over. That night my family told Mrs. Sands goodbye with tears and gratefulness and she slipped out of our lives forever. It was only a few years later that we received word that she'd passed away.
How grateful I am that my mother and father sought to care for someone in need in our neighborhood. In doing so, I learned exactly what a ninety year old woman and a young girl could have in common. I learned more about the worth of an individual from Mrs. Sands than from any other person in my life.
I learned that small acts of service and kindness can be multiplied and magnified to create a legacy of love, wrapping around so many people, extending out from them, and living beyond a mere life-span.
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EDITED TO ADD: I'm posting at Blissfully Domestic today, so head on over and find out how much you should pay a babysitter, get info on your child getting to take an NFL player to school, and a link to an online etch-a-sketch. Also come talk to me in the forum about your favorite Olympic sports. Tonight is women's gymnastics...I'm totally there.
I spent some time on my family today. It was a blast, but it didn't allow me to finish off the final segment of my The Lady Across the Street posts.
And now as I'm watching Olympic swimming and prepping a lesson for church tomorrow...I'm realizing it's not gonna happen tonight. So I'm making you wait a little longer. But it'll be worth the wait...maybe.
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This story is something that I've wanted to tell for a long time. It's true. It's about a very random person during a very random part of my life, who had a huge impact on me, without doing anything huge at all. (Part I can be found here.)
There weren't many days now that I didn't see Mrs. Sands. I was usually in charge of taking dinner to her. I would go to write down a list of the groceries she needed. I would help her call customer service people to complain about utility outages. I changed the paper and replaced the cuttle bone in her parakeet's cages. I helped weed her flowers and water her lawn.
But I got so much more out of our visits than I even realized at the time.
Inevitably during our visits, I would find a new treasure that would inspire a new story. I'd listen to the voice of a woman who'd actually lived history.
I remember the time I was searching for a fork and found a book of ration stamps and some black-out candles from WWII. Mrs. Sands had lived in the same house during the war, and remembered the practice air raids. She made real for me the terror that Americans experienced after Pearl Harbor...wondering if their town would be attacked next.
For a girl who'd always believed that war happened far away from my home, it was an eye opening experience.
Then there was the time that she helped me move the old fashioned ice box away from the wall to show me how it operated. The ice-man would deliver a giant block of ice that was placed in the back of the wooden cabinet. I expressed shock that a block of ice could keep food from spoiling. Mrs. Sands laughed and assured me that her milk had always been cold.
And then all of the sudden, Mrs. Sands began to forget things. Little things at first...She'd forget to pay her water bill. When my mother would go to visit, she would be sure that all of her pipes had broken, even with the past due notice in plain site on the table. Slowly her flowers began to die, despite mine and my families' attempts to take care of them. Then there was the day that Mrs. Sands acted as though she didn't know me. She refused to open the door, telling me harshly to leave her alone.
Still sometimes things were normal.
I remember sitting on her front porch step, tracing my finger along words that had been drawn into wet concrete.
Jim Loves Lana
"My husband was a romantic" she had laughed. "He drew that the day we moved in."
Then her eyes were far away and her voice was silent, remembering moments that were too private to share.
Meanwhile my parents were frantic to find help for her. My mother worked tirelessly to get local and state services for our good friend. And she was trying to find her family.
Although Mrs. Sands was childless, she spoke often of her nieces, and my mom was set on contacting them to let them know just how much their sweet aunt was deteriorating.
The day Mrs. Sands locked herself out of the house in 100 degree weather was not a good day. She spent the day fretting at our house while my father found a way to get into her house with minimal damage.
The entire time I sat talking with her. The entire time she called me by the name of one of her nieces that she hadn't seen in more than a decade. Tears welled in my eyes every few minutes.
My mom had taken me aside and explained Alzheimer's and age-related dementia.
But explanations aside...it was difficult to understand and accept.
I'd never thought much about what a gift the ability to think was. I had never expressed gratitude for being able to speak. I had never once thought about what it would be like to have the entire world go dark...even if only for brief moments. To do things that I couldn't later remember.
I felt helpless to stop what was happening. A beautiful, intelligent, and amazing woman sat before me. For her entire life, she'd been a pioneer, helping to settle and found communities. And yet it seemed like the community, the people, the entire world had forgotten about her. And now she was forgetting us.
And then my mother got a phone call from Oregon. Mrs. Sands' nieces were coming. Help was on the way.
In Part V, Mrs. Sands receives help...but not in the way I'd imagined. And I'm forced to watch her lose much of the life she'd built up.
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This story is something that I've wanted to tell for a long time. It's true. It's about a very random person during a very random part of my life, who had a huge impact on me, without doing anything huge at all. (Part I can be found here.)
I don't know what I'd been expecting when I walked into Mrs. Sand's house, carrying the plate of food my mother had forced me to deliver.
I guess I was expecting a normal house, and to be honest, Mrs. Sand's living room had all the components of a normal house. I could see a couch, tables, rugs, and lamps. But there was so much more there to see.
There were pale pink plates hanging on plate racks directly above her sofa. There were dolls in elaborate costumes lined up on a hutch along the back wall. There were paintings of prairie scenes on several of the walls. Everywhere I turned there seemed to be a cabinet filled with figurines, toys, books, and strange objects that I'd never seen before.
I could see all the way back through Mrs. Sand's dining room and into her kitchen. It was the same throughout the entire house.
There was a phonograph in the corner of the dining room. An antique ice box that predated refrigerators in the living room. Black and white photographs that pictured wagons and antique cars sat on every available surface. I could see into what was obviously her bedroom, where glamorous women in slouchy fedora hats smirked back at me from frames on top of her dresser.
History mixed with nostalgic remnants of a time I hadn't been around to see.
I couldn't stop staring.
"I've got a lot of stuff", a voice said unexpectedly.
She was standing there, watching me with an amused smile.
"Come on in and sit a spell. I promise I won't bite."
I came back to my senses and held out the plate of food. "Mommy sent this for you."
Mrs. Sands took the plate of food and walked it back to the kitchen as she called back to me.
"Have a seat on the couch while I put this up for later", she called back to me.
I sat down next to a bookcase filled with pictures of sweeping grasses and oil rigs.
"Beautiful, aren't they?" her voice was suddenly back next to me.
"Oklahoma has changed a lot in the last century. Sometimes I miss all the wide areas of prairie. I tell you, though, those oil rigs pumping were an exciting sight when I was a girl."
And for the next hour it was like I was under a spell, listening to a master storyteller spin tales of territorial days of the state, gunfights, planting seasons, railroad lines and country dances. I lost track of time and myself. Her voice danced around the room creating scenes out of a history book that I simply could not look away from.
After an hour, Mrs. Sands yawned, and I came to my senses.
"Mommy will be wondering where I'm at" I apologized as I stood up.
"Oh, here I've been talking your ear off and you wanting to get away the whole time," she laughed.
I protested. "No ma'am. I loved hearing about those things. It's like history wasn't so..."
She laughed again, reading my unspoken thoughts "Oh, don't worry. Lot's of people think history is boring. But if you enjoyed yourself, maybe I can tell you more another time."
I was sincere when I said, "I can't wait."
As I said good night and walked back across the street, I was excited for the next visit with Mrs. Sands.
But, I didn't know then how limited our time together would be. I had no idea that age and a thief-like disease were already conspiring to take away the amazing mind and voice that I'd just been introduced to. I didn't even know such a thief existed. Even if I had, I would have been powerless to stop it.
There was just so much I still didn't know about this woman and so little time left to learn.
Join me tomorrow for Part IV where Mrs. Sand's begins to need my little family more and more. And where I learn some very hard lessons about aging, loving, and loss.
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This story is something that I've wanted to tell for a long time. It's true. It's about a very random person during a very random part of my life, who had a huge impact on me, without doing anything huge at all. (Part I can be found here.)
Part II
Ever since our first visit, mommy had made it a point to stop by daily for a chat with the elderly woman across the street. We'd been back to sit on her front porch several times since that first meeting, and to be honest, it still seemed like a chore to me.
I just didn't understand why my mom wanted to be friends with this woman.
Our time spent on the porch swing was wasted time to me...time away from Barbies and swimming pools and card games. But even though I didn't like being there, we kept going. We'd visit for an hour, with me completely ignoring the conversation, and then we'd go home.
Then one day as my mother was serving dinner, she set aside an extra plate and filled it with food. She covered it with aluminum foil and asked me to walk it across the street to Mrs. Sands.
I didn't want to.
Mrs. Sand's house was fine to visit when I sat on the porch with my mother in the broad daylight, but walking across the street at dusk to visit her alone was downright terrifying.
What would I possibly say to her? What if she wanted me to sit and talk a bit? What if she stopped breathing right while we were talking? What if I died of boredom during the visit? What could a ninety-year-old woman and an eleven-year-old girl possibly have in common?
But my mother's will would not be moved by silly fears. And so I found myself walking as slowly as possible across the street to Mrs. Sand's house carrying a plate of fried chicken in my trembling hands.
I knocked on the door and waited for her to answer.
"Come on in sweetie" a gravelly voice called from inside the house. I guess she was expecting me. I'd kind of hoped she wouldn't be home.
Knowing what my mother would say if I came back home with the plate of food, I gulped down the lump of fear in my throat and opened the door.
As I tentatively stepped inside the house, my mouth dropped open in surprise. I'd been expecting to walk into a living room, and instead, I found myself inside an elaborate museum.
---Join me for Part III tomorrow when I learn about real history through the eyes of a real pioneer.
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You know that feeling when you first realize that you're officially a grown-up. For some people it's when they move into their own home. For others it's when they get married. Still others don't feel officially grown up until they start repeating the same sayings that their parents said.
I live in my own house. I'm married. I have five children. I take reasonably good care of them. I pay bills. I drive. I repeat every cotton-pickin' thing my mother ever said to me. And yet, I still don't feel grown up most of the time.
I feel like the girl making the weird face in the photograph.
That girl is almost 20 years old. She's been married for a little less than a year. She and her husband are both working towards degrees in education. They just got a puppy.
But the look on her face says it all. She's absolutely clueless and more than a little terrified of what the future holds.
She still wonders when she's going to feel grown up. She worries that she's not ready for all the things that life is getting ready to throw at her. She hyperventilates at the thought of being in charge of a dog, let alone a family.
Sadly, I haven't come very far. There are still moments when it feels like I'm out of my body, watching me deal with day to day life. I watch myself argue with the phone company for overcharging my bill. I see myself explain to my daughter why we shouldn't read words carved in the paint at the playground. I can see me planning budgets, shuffling money, working, cooking, and more.
But none of that feels like me.
I feel much more like the girl in the picture.
But then one of my children feels sad or scared or worried. Their world just doesn't feel right. So they come to find me. And in the instance that they crawl into my arms, I'm made capable.
This is what I'm good at. This is why I'm here. I can erase doubt. I can smooth fear. I turn worry into wonder.
It seems more like magic than being grown-up.
And magic...well that's something I can do.
---For more Sincerely 'Fro Me To You posts, visit We Are THAT Family.
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The house across the street grew flowers that towered over my head and transformed its small yard into a rainbow oasis on an otherwise bland and nondescript street. I had no idea of the real names of the flowers, so I named them myself...Red Sirens, Jumbled Dancers, Firestorms, and Sunbonnet Stalks...they were all there in the little front-yard-garden.
The elderly woman who tended the garden must have had a real name, but it took awhile before I learned it. Mostly I just watched her as she pulled weeds and watered flowers.
One night I overheard my father and mother talking about her after dinner was done.
"It's going to be 102 tomorrow", my Dad had observed.
"Maybe I should go check on Mrs. Sands...take her some lemonade," my mother had been thinking aloud.
"It would be a good idea to check in with her every day as long as this hot weather lasts. She could get sick or hurt, and nobody would know for days."
I wondered why my parents cared about the woman across the street.
The next morning, mommy baked a plate full of chocolate chip cookies and made a pitcher of lemonade. She brushed out mine and my sisters hair and inspected us just like she did every time we went to visit family.
Then we marched across the street to see a complete stranger, one I knew only by the flowers growing in her front yard.
She was sitting on her porch in an old rocking chair listening to her wind chimes dance in the cool morning breeze. She was older than she'd looked from far away. I'd never seen so many wrinkles, but her smile was cheerful and welcoming as though she'd been waiting for us to come. Expecting us...somehow. Delighted that we'd finally found our way.
Mommy introduced us and Mrs. Sands shook our hands and told us girls to make ourselves comfortable on the porch swing.
Then she and mommy chatted while my sisters and I moved back and forth on the swing...listening as they talked about flowers, the weather, the wind, and the world.
An hour later of what seemed like meaningless conversation and Mrs. Sands yawned a little.
Mommy thought it must be time to go. Mrs. Sands protested a bit, but it was obvious that she was tired.
Mommy thanked her for her company. Mrs. Sands thanked her for the treats, and we went home.
As we walked away, I looked back to see Mrs. Sands open her front door. She gave a last wave. I waved back and then hurried to keep pace with my mother's steps.
I truly believe that there are people...they seem random at the time...but there are people who are sent to you, to teach you lessons you might not otherwise learn. Somehow your paths are meant to overlap, if even for a moment. And in those moments you find something necessary...something you would have missed had it not been there.
I'd just met one of those people.
---This story is something that I've wanted to tell for a long time. It's true. It's about a very random person during a very random part of my life, who had a huge impact on me, without doing anything huge at all.
And if my vagueness hasn't really ticked you off, come back tomorrow night when I'll post Part II of the story.
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Do you remember Mad Libs?
I was a huge fan as a kid, so it makes sense that I would want my kids to experience these funny story-making devices. And Mad Libs are sort of educational. So if I didn't buy them, I'd be depriving my kids of learning the parts of speech in a fun and exciting way.
The word "deprive" and "World's Greatest Mommy" just don't belong on the same blog.
So I bought a two-pack of Mad Libs to introduce to my children.
At first they didn't get it. Because anything that Mom did as a kid is weird. They let me know that the first time I told them what a Shrinky Dink was.
But eventually they started experimenting. I could hear them as I worked in the other room.
Jare: Give me another noun.
Boose: Princess
Jare: Pick an adjective.
Boose: Pretty
Jare: How 'bout "boring"?
Boose: How 'bout your face is boring?
It didn't take long for their Dad, a self-declared Mad Libs champion, to intervene.
Dad: You have to choose funny things. Gross stuff works well. Use fart a lot and it will turn out great.
See, I usually discourage talking about bodily functions in our home.
I don't like it.
But with their dad's permission to get down and dirty...those kids went to town.
And they came up with the most variations on the word fart that I've ever seen. Did you know it could be a noun, verb, adverb, adjective, occupation, and proper noun?
When Jare read the final Mad Lib aloud, everyone was cracking up. Dad was laughing the loudest, successfully having influenced another generation.
And as I watched all the kids and their dad laughing together, I couldn't help but smile. Even with all the fart jokes...
---And so that you can feel nostalgic, or be introduced to the wonders of Mad Libs, visit their site to play on your own. And according to my kids..."fartily" is a perfectly acceptable adverb.
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I'm over at Blissfully Domestic today sharing my woes about back to school. I've also rounded up a bunch of links that you need to see. Head on over...especially if you like bubble wrap.
---And to all the people who commiserated with me about Baby's sunglasses incident...she's doing great. No pain. No fussiness. I'm telling you, the child is a tank. And thanks to your comments...I'm doing better too. I even smiled a little about it today. Tomorrow I might even giggle. So, thanks! You guys pulled me through again!
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It's a simple rule. Don't run in the house.
It kind of goes along with some other rules I have.
Don't run with scissors. Don't run with Popsicle sticks. Don't run with your toothbrush in your mouth.
But, I forgot one.
Don't run with sunglasses.
And because I neglected to stress this rule, I spent a couple of hours in an emergency room with a two-year-old who had punctured her forehead when she fell onto a pair of sunglasses.
And yes, this is the same girl who eats glass, laughs at vaccinations, says "ow" when stepping on furniture tacks, etc.
We're hoping to minimize scarring, so the doctor opted to glue the parts of her forehead together. The glue has a purple tint.
Baby said that it is "princess glue."
'Cause she knows how to look on the bright side.
I'm too tired for the bright side right now, though.
Maybe tomorrow.
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