Can I use this knife?

I was moving the kids' bedrooms. I had separated Byron and Rowan and now everyone was going to have their own room. In the "purging" of old toys, Rowan came across a toy he'd gotten at some holiday that (for whatever reason) had not been opened. My daughter Corbyn as always, wanted to be helpful, and asked to borrow the knife to cut the packaging. "Please be careful and don't cut yourself", I said it without even thinking. Seconds later "MOMMY". I didn't answer. In my defense, this child screams with same urgency whether a ladybug has made it into the house, or we're being robbed. It's a coin toss with her really. "MOMMY MOMMY MOMMY" and at this point she came to me with blood spurting (IS there a better adjective to describe it? I think not) from her left hand. I scooped her up and ran into the kitchen to rinse it out. As we're at the kitchen sink, I see that the cut is quite small, but is located in that webbing between the thumb and forefinger-making it hard to bandage. That, and blood's pouring out of it like lies from a Democrat.

While rinsing it off and trying to keep Byron from crying (he's the sympathetic one) I'm also trying to keep Corbyn's chin from bouncing off the granite countertop. Her knees are buckling because she made the mistake of looking at all the blood. With Corbyn wavering in and out of consciousness (she was getting pretty woozy at this point) I ask Byron to help me. Bubba (we live in the south, all brothers and sons are Bubba and YES we know exactly who is who), do you remember if we have any bandages? "No" he barely whispered.

Yeah, that's right. I have four kids and don't own not one damn roll of bandages or gauze. This was our first knifing, we're much better prepared now. Then I remember, I have maxi pads under the bathroom sink. "Honey, you know that pretty pink box under the bathroom sink? I need you to bring me one of the 'bandages' from that box". He comes back with a tampon. I pick Corbyn's head back up and say, "No honey, the OTHER pink box...they're in little packages. Please bring me one."

To make a terribly long story short, I bandaged my daughter's hand with a maxi pad and scotch tape and had her lie down. She was miserable. And I had a guilty headache. I went outside and burst into tears because of the happiness I felt at being such a wonderful mother. I mean who wouldn't let their daughter use a knife to open a box?

Her father came home, viewed the carnage, superglued the wound shut-slapped her on the butt and sent her outside to play. Why didn't I think of that? I used to think that the Dad's job was to just keep the kids alive until Great and Wonderful Motherness comes home....but I'm finding more and more that while unconventional, Dads are pretty handy to have around.

I want to apologize. I got hooked on Facebook and haven't even THOUGHT of blogging in months. I've decided the blog is a much better creative outlet than little chat window spurts at the bottom of my screen every 30 seconds or so (depending on who's online). And in all fairness, I'm blogging today because my kids have yet again done something funny.



Corbyn is 9 and Daci is 13. Corbyn is quite feminine and well, prissy. Daci is uh, well, not. They share a room. But much like oil and water, you can put them in the same container, but they'll never mesh entirely.



In the car yesterday, Daci says, "Mom, I think it's time you let Corbyn shave her legs." Okay so now I'm trying to figure out what Daci stands to gain from Corbyn shaving her legs...cuz there's gotta be something. Far be it from her to ask on behalf of her sister without some sort of pay out in the end. "No honey, she's too young. I probably won't let her until she's 11 just like with you." Never mind the fact that Corbyn is the same daughter who stuck a knife through the webbing in her left hand. I'll post that story next-quite traumatic. Daci says, "Mom, she's really hairy just like me and you, you should really let her do it sooner, all of the other girls her age are doing it." "Daci, I have yet to see one 4th grade girl with freshly shaven (is that a word?) legs. The answer is still 'no' I don't care how hairy we are." And of course, I have yet to learn, I never have the last word in one of these famouse conversations. Corbyn decides to speak for herself at this point and announces from the back seat, "I am NOT hairy like you and Daci. I do NOT have hair on my PENIS and both of you do!"
So, there ya have it. I take comfort in knowing my daughter does NOT have hair on her penis!