It turns out moving means doing a lot of cleaning. Who knew?
My poor hands are unaccustomed to heavy cleaning work, by which I mean anything beyond dishes, and were cracked and bleeding in a couple of places after maybe 15 minutes.
So for once I made smart rememberings in my brain, and stopped by a pharmacy on the way to the grocery store to pick up bandaids. And even fever meds for the kids, because we need that once every couple of months, always at 2 a.m.
In return for my foresight, I was rewarded with instantly injured children. "Mommy look," D said the second she saw the bandaids, "Owie on my finger."
"Look!" pointed out N. "My knee has a cut."
My explanations that bandaids are intended for open, bleeding cuts, not invisible cuts, were apparently taken to mean "I am unimpressed. Come up with better injuries." So for the next few minutes I got to hear about tummies with owies and toes with owies and how my kids are basically walking disaster victims.
I drew a picture of this, as is my wont:
Adi drew her own picture of the same events:
(that's me on the left. I'm small because I'm far away.)
Astute readers may notice some subtle differences between the two pictures, like the presence of actual injuries, or my concern vs. complete lack thereof.
And yes, Adi makes backgrounds, once again proving herself the better artist.
Anyway. In the end, D was the lucky one who developed an actual sort-of-a-cut on her hand first. I think she went through 10 bandaids as she carefully nursed it back to health.
Me, I ended up nursing my hands back to health by avoiding anything more strenuous than washing dishes, doing laundry, or hiding the bandaids.
My poor hands are unaccustomed to heavy cleaning work, by which I mean anything beyond dishes, and were cracked and bleeding in a couple of places after maybe 15 minutes.
So for once I made smart rememberings in my brain, and stopped by a pharmacy on the way to the grocery store to pick up bandaids. And even fever meds for the kids, because we need that once every couple of months, always at 2 a.m.
In return for my foresight, I was rewarded with instantly injured children. "Mommy look," D said the second she saw the bandaids, "Owie on my finger."
"Look!" pointed out N. "My knee has a cut."
My explanations that bandaids are intended for open, bleeding cuts, not invisible cuts, were apparently taken to mean "I am unimpressed. Come up with better injuries." So for the next few minutes I got to hear about tummies with owies and toes with owies and how my kids are basically walking disaster victims.
I drew a picture of this, as is my wont:
(that's me on the left. I'm small because I'm far away.)
Astute readers may notice some subtle differences between the two pictures, like the presence of actual injuries, or my concern vs. complete lack thereof.
And yes, Adi makes backgrounds, once again proving herself the better artist.
Anyway. In the end, D was the lucky one who developed an actual sort-of-a-cut on her hand first. I think she went through 10 bandaids as she carefully nursed it back to health.
Me, I ended up nursing my hands back to health by avoiding anything more strenuous than washing dishes, doing laundry, or hiding the bandaids.
Adi...I love your picture. It is so colorful!!
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