So were going into Easter weekend and an Easter photo shoot is on tap. Not that a photo shoot isn’t on tap every weekend. After all, the motto in our home is “If it isn’t recorded, it didn’t happen.” The kids have gotten quite adept at knowing that all spontaneous activity and discoveries are to be instantly halted until Mom returns with the camcorder to record all of the spontaneity, albeit with their heads cut off at the top of the frame due to her amazing photographic skills. But, it’s Easter. Cute dresses, bunnies and all that.
So we are meeting at my folks and the husband is late. He finally shows up with the little one and the son. He is holding Mia and as I approach, the husband starts moving in a circle. I take a step, he matches it. Another one, ditto. I briefly consider that perhaps he is making sure Mia shows me her good side but then rule that out as she doesn’t have a good side. Both are great. So, I finally get the wheel to stop and discover that Mia has a major scrape on the side of her face which is sort of bleeding and a funny shade of white having been treated with diaper rash ointment which apparently is the treatment of choice for anything duct tape can’t fix.
I ponder the situation and am quietly thankful that it didn’t happen on my watch as I would never live it down. Unlike my spouse, I understand the restraint necessary to ensure good familial relations when it comes to these things. In fact, I didn’t even mention the time the husband locked the son in the van while locking himself out of it because the dear husband allowed the son to put the keys in the ignition and lock the van's door right before he snapped the soon to be imprisoned son in his car seat. This, of course, one week after the husband solemnly agreed with me not to do the same ever again due to the danger presented. At least the son enjoyed the fancy fire engine and police cars.
The caring son fills me in on the facial damage. Explains that Mia almost cracked her head open which, to him, is solidly up there with almost putting her eye out. Very serious. Informs me that there was an apparent disconnect between the weight of her head and the weight of her body and that she apparently was testing how fast she could run downhill while waving her arms and that the answer to the same was not apparently fast enough to counteract that toppling over thing. Makes sure I understand that her father let her. Wouldn’t want her to get in trouble for almost cracking her head open when she had the tacit approval of her father I guess.
I think about asking her what she was thinking and then decide that I might not want the answer to that given that fact that my best thinking is what normally gets me in trouble (Let’s see, I’m grounded and am not getting shocked by this shorted out thing, wonder what would happen if I touch this other piece of metaaaaaaaaaalllll.)
So we all consult and decide it is merely a flesh wound and that the answer to the problem is chocolate. For mom, of course. After all, disaster was narrowly averted. Got to have steady nerves when pointing a camera.
So we are meeting at my folks and the husband is late. He finally shows up with the little one and the son. He is holding Mia and as I approach, the husband starts moving in a circle. I take a step, he matches it. Another one, ditto. I briefly consider that perhaps he is making sure Mia shows me her good side but then rule that out as she doesn’t have a good side. Both are great. So, I finally get the wheel to stop and discover that Mia has a major scrape on the side of her face which is sort of bleeding and a funny shade of white having been treated with diaper rash ointment which apparently is the treatment of choice for anything duct tape can’t fix.
I ponder the situation and am quietly thankful that it didn’t happen on my watch as I would never live it down. Unlike my spouse, I understand the restraint necessary to ensure good familial relations when it comes to these things. In fact, I didn’t even mention the time the husband locked the son in the van while locking himself out of it because the dear husband allowed the son to put the keys in the ignition and lock the van's door right before he snapped the soon to be imprisoned son in his car seat. This, of course, one week after the husband solemnly agreed with me not to do the same ever again due to the danger presented. At least the son enjoyed the fancy fire engine and police cars.
The caring son fills me in on the facial damage. Explains that Mia almost cracked her head open which, to him, is solidly up there with almost putting her eye out. Very serious. Informs me that there was an apparent disconnect between the weight of her head and the weight of her body and that she apparently was testing how fast she could run downhill while waving her arms and that the answer to the same was not apparently fast enough to counteract that toppling over thing. Makes sure I understand that her father let her. Wouldn’t want her to get in trouble for almost cracking her head open when she had the tacit approval of her father I guess.
I think about asking her what she was thinking and then decide that I might not want the answer to that given that fact that my best thinking is what normally gets me in trouble (Let’s see, I’m grounded and am not getting shocked by this shorted out thing, wonder what would happen if I touch this other piece of metaaaaaaaaaalllll.)
So we all consult and decide it is merely a flesh wound and that the answer to the problem is chocolate. For mom, of course. After all, disaster was narrowly averted. Got to have steady nerves when pointing a camera.
1 comment:
Mia is a shoe girl...like her friend Meredith!
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