Nothing goes right around here.

Most of you know what happened to Ada on Thanksgiving morning. As usual, Jack was finding great sport in chasing our child with special needs around the house. She tripped over her own feet and landed chin first on the midget table. Once again, kid blood all over the kitchen floor. Melissa rushed her to the bathroom to survey the damage. I wouldn’t have cared if I hadn’t been nearing the end of my shower. Privacy is important when living with pointing kids. I grabbed a towel and asked Melissa what had happened. She explained every detail, including the little yellow globules of fat coming out of the wound. I waited nearly an hour in the InstaCare for every stitch that girl got in her chin. The doctor on duty had a good laugh when I told him that I tried to butterfly Ada’s slice. I did take some pleasure observing all the other grateful people limping and coughing in and out of there. Not one single person in that whole building wanted to be there, and I found that somehow humorous. Bad luck in concentrate is even funnier from an outsider’s perspective I would imagine.

Melissa is at the at the doctor’s office as I write. I tried to remove Ada’s stitches last night, and the wound looked infected to me. To her credit, Ada has complained far less about this whole ordeal than I have.

For the record (Grandma Lois), the doctor said it was fine that I remove her stitches on the couch.

I have to run.