Tuesday, July 21, 2009

And It's Only Tuesday

This morning went along like a typical day with my son, involving messes like orange juice in the button divots of the ottoman and an entire foam-rubber alphabet plus the numbers 0 through 9 displayed on the living room floor. The ultimate adrenalin-rush happened when I found him dangling by his fingertips from the top of the large metal birdcage in our sunroom, and unable to reach him in time, watched the entire thing tip forward in the direction of a large, glass-fronted cabinet. It was atypical of him, but he fell clear of the entire thing, and received for his efforts only a small scratch on his knee, and there is a minor scrape on the bottom of the cabinet. A few inches either way, and there'd have been broken glass or little toddler legs cut by sharp metal or both. The scratch on my son is in good company with the six bruises, twelve scabs, and three other scrapes currently decorating his legs.

I decided we'd spend the second half of the day outside, and it went something like a Calvin and Hobbes sandbox strip. It'll be okay if my husband doesn't ask me what happened to all of the water in his goldfish pond...


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