Sometimes I have organized thoughts. Sometimes not.
Sometimes I start out with disorganized thoughts, but as I keep typing, God arranges them just so.
Not tonight, I'm thinking. Nothing coherent coming out of this frazzled-nerved lady.
We had a nice day up until Peter sliced his finger open with the lid of a mandarin orange can.
You see, they wanted me to make ambrosia salad (canned fruit, sour cream, marshmallows, coconut). Peter wanted to help. I opened a can of mandarin oranges and asked him to please throw it away so that Beth wouldn't find it and cut her finger on it. As he pushed down the lid, his finger caught slightly. He panicked and forcibly pulled his finger loose, slicing it open.
The blood was substantial. The panic was substantial. The pancakes burned. The girls, hearing Peter carry on so, started crying. Momma, weak kneed, applied pressure to the skin flap wound, stopped the bleeding, doused it liberally with iodine, and called Daddy to come home. Then, while Peter held on a dressing and applied more pressure, I finished cooking dinner.
Peter calmed down nicely as we dined together (was it the pancakes and turkey bacon?), but kept questioning me about the stitches. Remembering going through hell during Mary's stitches procedure two years earlier, I said as little as possible, while my nerves continued to frazzle
Daddy came home, reluctantly, since he'd only slept a few hours the night before. He knew this would delay his bedtime by a few hours (he would have to start his last job later than usual).
But. There were pancakes and bacon and thawed mixed berries waiting for him. So he got over his disappointment.
Homemade pancakes. Bacon. The answer to so many of life's little dramas. (They would prefer the real thing, as far as the bacon goes, but Momma only buys lower-salt turkey bacon).
Turns out, at the children's ER, they only cleaned and dressed it. Since it was a skin-flap wound on the finger, which has so many lines anyway, they don't worry about scarring. Once the wound is professionally cleaned, they can just dress it and let the finger close on its own.
Peter survived the minor procedure quite well. Having the wound flap pulled back for thorough cleaning hurt, but he didn't panic or cry. Later, as I helped him with his pajamas, he smiled and said, "Thank you for taking care of me."
We did have a nice day, as I said, up until the wound. The children and I raked and bagged 24 garbage bags of leaves (over two days). Working hard together has been a blessing! So much so, that I want to think up other work projects we can do together.
When we were almost done with the leaves, Peter said, "The best thing about raking leaves together is spending fun time with your Mom."
Oh, my heart! It m. e. l. t. e. d.
This post by Amy from Raising Arrows, about teaching boys the value of hard work, was on my mind while we plugged away at the leaves. She shared some great thoughts.
Paul received this puzzle for his birthday from Auntie Lorrie. It was a challenge, since the picture completely changes as your head moves. It wasn't called three-dimensional--the name of this type escapes me. Anyhow, Paul loved the challenge.
Harry the Hamster is adjusting nicely to our family. He is nocturnal and runs on his wheel late into the night. I can hear him all over the house on that thing. He's a nice pet for Peter's age, but next time we'll choose a gerbil, which is not nocturnal. Hamsters must be handled every day, so Harry does wake up for his daily lovin'.
I love that Peter is so responsible in his care of Harry. It makes me smile and gives me reason to lavish him with praise, which is always a good thing. During Sunday School last week, Peter prayed that Harry would live the maximum three years. Sweet.
Pics from the leaf pile.