We had a lovely Christmas day. We went to church and I played for the choir during the service which was just over an hour. We even made it up to the hospital as we did on Thanksgiving to serve dinner to those on the pediatric floor. We enjoyed the evening singing carols and drinking hot chocolate with our best friends. We played and read stories together as a family. It was spectacular, really and the kids had been amazingly good. Then we hit bed time. It was as if our darling children were simultaneously transformed into miniature Tasmanian devils. Leaping from the bunk beds, somersaulting through their room, jumping on the bed, spreading blue toothpaste all over the bedroom, and streaking through the house in their darling little birthday suits.
Finally we wrestled them all in bed and Paul and I gave an audible sigh of relief as we closed their door. No less than 5 seconds later a shrill scream echoed from their room. With three girls shrill screams are anything but rare. So we calmly walked into their room and found Emily crying on the floor. Her sisters had informed us she had fallen off her bed (she sleeps on the top bunk), which is not rare either and seldomly results in any serious injury. We gave her the, “If you had stayed in bed and not goofed around . . .” lecture and Paul picked her up to comfort her. We were being moderately sympathetic but not overly so and I went to pat her on the head and send to bed when I noticed she was bleeding. Lots. Of course head wounds bleed a lot so it looked worse than it was. I exclaimed and we rushed her into our bathroom where we began to try to clean her up. We couldn’t see around all the blood so we finally plunked her into the bath tub. Now we really did feel sorry for the little tyke. We got her all washed up and she was just getting back to her smiley self when she slipped getting out of the tub and gashed her ankle. So now she had a gash in her ankle and a gash in her head. Paul slapped a band-aid on her ankle and I began to examine her head.
Thank goodness it wasn’t bad enough to race her in for stitches but I did have to cut her hair away so I could butterfly it shut. So now she has a little bald spot on top of her head. Poor little tyke, what an eventful end to such a wonderful Christmas Day! It must just be written in the cosmos some where: each perfect day must have a disastrous end and each disastrous day should have a perfect end. Ah well . . . *sigh*