the twelfth

Everyone (including me) was a little irritable this morning. Which I should have taken as a sign that the day would have a few bumps. Actually, the first sign should have been the snot-snail-trail across her face this morning. It was the first thing I saw when I opened my eyes. Pleasant. Nothing like dried snot before noon. So, because of the irritability I thought it would be good to get out and walk. A little fresh air might help lift some spirits. Plus I had eaten a few too many breakfast sausages. A walk would at least make me feel a little bit less guilty. She insisted on taking her wagon. Which really was not a good idea but she was already in a mood and had enough snot for the entire neighborhood. Fine. Bring the damn POS Walmart wagon. About twenty minutes (which is why walks are not a fav of mine these days) later we were on our way.We had just barely gotten around the block when it happened. I was slightly ahead of her and the stupid wagon. I heard her little feet running to catch up. Then, silence. But for just a second and then came the sliding sound. That girl slid across the asphalt like it was the bottom of the ninth, tie ball game, diving for home plate. Again, silence. And then the screams. Poor thing. I think she was more scared than hurt. Of course I picked her up (cause I am usually a good mom) and told her it was okay. Of course gallons of tears and snot were running on to my jacket...I made a mental note to wash it later on today with the other gazillion loads that were calling my name.

When I put her down, she made sure to pull up her pant leg to assess the damage. No sense falling if you don't have the boo-boo to show off. There it was. A nice case of road rash. She looked at her knee and then at me. Through the snot and tears she mumbled that she wanted a banade (translation: band aide. A Hello Kitty band aide). Still in mommy of the year mode, I told her that when we get home we will get a banade. On we went.

We usually pick flowers and put them in her stroller, but since she had her damn wagon I could tell she was going to hunt down some big ticket items. And less than a minute after sliding into home plate, she had to touch it. She grabbed that thing like it was the game winning ball. She had reached out and taken a handful of a cactus. Now, I am not a cacti expert, but this thing was mean. Her poor little starfish hand was covered in tiny little thorns. Her hand looked like it had grown hair. I don't know what she did but the thorns were everywhere. On the front and back of her hand. And as any two-year old would do, she rubbed her hand on her jacket. Which pushed the thorns in further and broke off the ends. I did my best to pull out the thorns with my nails, but there were hundreds of them.  Tough little girl. She didn't shed a tear. Just snot. Again, on we went. As we walked, I kept looking back and asking to see her hand. I was so scared that it would swell, which would trigger some horrible chain reaction which would sent her body into a complete swell....yes, yes, worse case scenario person I am. But come on! What if? How the F would I get it all together to get her to the doctor with two semi-mobile, centipede crawling babies...okay, yes, yes. Too much coffee. Calm down. Is it too early for a drink...it was going to be a long day.

She made it home alive - no horrible adverse reactions. Thank God. I outfitted her knee with two Hello Kitty banades. Which she then had to show off to her brothers. She told them that she phell (fell) and don't touch her banades or they would be in big trouble.

Tomorrow is my Monday. Back to work. But I might grab myself a banade, just in case.

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