Tuesday, June 28, 2011
Tell me I imagined that Black Eye
LUNCH TIME, and tag it off to the three-year-old. She didn't want to take a nap. If I made her clean then she wouldn't go to sleep. Picking up this one block was too hard. The book was too heavy. She didn't want to take turns so she whacked the boy in the head. She decided to play drums. She whacked herself in the head. The boy had a moment's peace so he thought to twrill around at the top of the stairs. You guessed it. While I was holding the six-month baby girl (who was hungry), he looses balance, falls, and hits his eye on the metal banister. Thank goodness he didn't fall down any more stairs.
ICE PACK, but it is already bruised and puffy. Feed the baby, try to calm the boy, while the two oldest act as if nothing happened. An hour later, Daddy comes home and miraculously there isn't another issue. Please explain to me how the car can make the most awful sound until the mechanic takes a look at it. I swear sometimes my husband must think my imagination runs wild.