Ouch...x2

Libby ran into a bookshelf last night at eight and hurt herself. Paul panicked and demanded I come home. I couldn't leave, except for a true emergency, so I assessed her over the phone and tried to calm him down. I told him to call me if she got worse, I'd be home as soon as possible, and I assumed he'd take her to the ER if he thought she needed to go. He's angry with me now for not dropping everything and running home. I don't know what else I could have done. She has a shallow cut with no bleeding over a nice sized goose egg. I had him keep her awake until I got home and assessed her, and I checked her every two hours through the night. I'm pretty tired and emotional.

Guitar!

Here it is, proof that once during my daughter's childhood, I actually did an art project with her.

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Big News!

There is big news at my house! Libby has moved into Reagan's room and they are the happiest sisters in town. I've finally got the rail off of Libby's crib now, but it's butted against Reagan's bed. Little Miss Thrasher falls out of bed if there's not something there to catch her.

What kind of parents let their kids watch John Belushi movies?

This kind.




It's her new favorite movie.

She's been running around the house all week singing, Stand By Your Man: "Suhtimes it's hawd...be a wohman"