Well. It’s been quite an eventful couple of days here. (When is it not?)
Saturday: Wonderboy, O he of uncertain balance, took another tumble and lost three more teeth. Remember when he knocked out a front tooth at the playground? This time he outdid himself. Knocked out another top tooth and shoved two more up into his gum. (I’ll pause while you shudder.)
So now he’s got a four-tooth-wide gap up top, leaving just his pointy little fangs. I mean canines. I feel like Fudge’s mother.
This is just maybe going to make speech therapy kind of interesting for a while.
Sunday: Time for our family outing to the cut-your-own Christmas tree farm! But Scott, suffering some trauma from Wonderboy’s dental adventures, decided a field full of hidden stumps was not the best place for our accident-prone son. I stayed home with the two little ones and my mother, who was visiting from Colorado, and let Scott take the three older girls to hunt the mighty Christmas tree.
They came home with a fine tree…and a broken finger.
Jane, this time. What happened? She tripped over a tree stump in the field.
It’s just a minor buckle fracture, painful but not too serious. She made it to her piano recital this morning and played the right hand of the piece she’d been practicing almost incessantly for the past two months. Her good-natured piano teacher played the left hand, and it worked out fine.
She’s an angel in the Christmas pageant on Friday. I’m thinking we can ditch the splint and sling for the performance. Or else hide them under her heavenly robes.
(Panic! I have to make heavenly robes!)
I brought a tin of Christmas treats to the recital as a gift for the piano teacher. Some helpful soul unpacked my bag for me and thought, quite understandably, that it was a tin of treats for the party table. (For that, we had brought string cheese—Wonderboy’s favorite—and some of my mother’s famous cake.) Most of Miss Cyndi’s treats were gobbled up by small, hungry musicians, but she laughed over the mishap and said it was the thought that counts.
I hope she’s right, because the way this week is going, I don’t know how much more Christmas baking I’m going to get done. But I’ve thought about it. That counts! Right?
A Little Less Conversation
Two Weeks Old
Unearthed: The Notebooks
When Your Husband Says
It’s Lent, and We’re No Longer Green