Tuesday, August 26, 2008

Interesting Injury of the Day

Jack stumbles, weeping, into the dining room with blood dripping from his mouth.

Me: Oh no! Did you fall?

Jack: Noooooooo. I bumped.

Me: You bumped? Into what?

Jack: I bumped my teeth. On the TOILET! Waaaaaah!

I just don't even want to know.

Sunday, August 24, 2008

A Chat in the Doctor's Office

Tonight, I finally had to face facts and take myself to urgent care in order to address what turns out to be conjunctivitis in my right eye. As I was not in any serious distress, I decided to take Corrie along for the ride, in part because the girl *loves* the doctor's office. The outing did not disappoint. She read an exciting book in the waiting room, giggled with glee as the nurse took my blood pressure, and was in absolute awe when the doctor said that she could be the assistant while she administered drops and looked at my eye with a blue light. All the while, she filled her role as my chief comforter . . . holding my hand and expressing her concern over my condition throughout the experience.

My favorite part of the night, though, came when the nurse asked Corrie if she got along well with her little brothers. Her response: "Welllll, um, you know, sometimes we can be a little . . . unpeaceful, especially when we take toys away from each other."

You just have to love the honesty. It doesn't even occur to her that she could say, "Oh, yes, we get along splendidly," and no one would be the wiser. Though my throbbing eye is a literal pain and an inconvenience, I really enjoyed my rare chance to have some time alone with my funny and forthright little girl.

Friday, August 15, 2008

First Haircut

Our baby boy is turning one next week. Unbelievable. It is unbelievable that a year's time has already elapsed, and it is never ceases to amaze me that a baby can change so much in such a short span of time. Can he really have gone from this helpless newborn:

To this laughing, crawling, climbing, bouncing, little guy?:

But, enough of that. The purpose of this post was to show the shearing of Wesley's little baby mullet. As one would imagine, he was less than thrilled with this plan, but hung in there like a pro, even though he was the victim of a new stylist at the ever-popular "Kid's Hair" salon. In fact, so new was this stylist, that she forgot to censor her innermost feelings and let out a loud "Oh No!" when she saw me approaching the chair with the little guy. She did gather herself, however, and we left with a satisfactory result.

Behold, the unfolding drama:

You can't run and you can't hide.

I like my mullet. Let's leave it alone. Please.

Finished product.