Let's Try This Again

I woke up this morning to a Peyson voice saying:
Mommy, Ainslee's cast is off.
Wait. . .What??
A cast doesn't just come off.  A baby can't just pull her cast off.  What REALLY happened? 
We will never know.
I kept asking Peyson the same question just in different ways. . .
Did you pull it off?  Did you help her get it off?  Did you try to get her out of bed and it came off?  How did it come off?  What happened?  Did Peyson help get it off?
He answered no to everything. 
I guess he wasn't lying.
I guess Little Miss Monkey Face pulled a fast one.
How DID she do it?

I don't know. 
I guess it doesn't matter.
She was pretty excited to be free of it. . .for a little while.
Her "new accessory" is back.  And bright green.

Silly little girl. 
What will we do with her?

18 Months And a Broken Arm

Tuesday morning was play at the mall day.  We jammed to "moves like jagga" on the way.  We were the only ones there because school has started.  Only mall walkers and the babes. 
Air conditioning. 
Perfect!
Until this. . .

Brother and sister were playing perfectly well.  They were in a tunnel under the slide when the crying started.  From the story of a 4 year old, Miss Ainslee fell and Mr. Peyson fell on top of a bent arm.
She couldn't use it to get up.  She didn't raise it when I bent down to pick her up.  Her sad little cry never stopped.
We called Daddy to see if the ER was necessary.
He skipped work and came with us to Urgent Care.  We waited for 3 hours before they sent us home with nothing.
Derek looked at the x rays at home and found something more than nothing.
He called a radiologist from our ward.  Thank goodness for doctors in your ward!
When he came to our house to take a look, Dr. Elliott's first words. . .uh oh.
He called an orthopedic surgeon for us.

Ainslee and Mamma were buddies all night.  It was long, of course.  Poor little babes.
We got in to the doctor this afternoon.  More x rays.  She didn't like that one bit.  She didn't like getting the cast even more.
And when it was finished, she was asking everybody, anybody, to take it off!
Sweet little sad little girl.

She can't lift even a little toy car.  OWEE!  Owee Mamma.
Just 1 1/2 with a little broken arm.  A little pink cast.
Sad story.

Just Divorced

I would guess that everybody has a trashed car when they come out of their wedding reception.  Window paint, shaving cream, balloons, cans tied to the back with string, other random crazy from the ones who get a little carried away. . .

But that trashed car signifies the beginning of the greatest happiness between two people.  A new life together.  Marriage.

I was driving home from the grocery store the other day when a car drove in front of me.  Its back window had "just divorced" loud and proud for all to see.  At first I laughed.  But then I felt sad.  I realize some marriages are better off ended, some people better off apart.  But still, it is so sad that some marriages are better off ended and some people better off apart.  It is sad that some people choose to be selfish instead of selfless.  Abusive instead of gentile.  Angry instead of understanding.  Right instead of sensitive.  Bitter instead of loving.  Stubborn instead of forgiving.  I am positive there are other reasons for divorce and I pray with all my heart that I never have to know the half of it.  But that back window made me most sad because everybody deserves happiness.  Everybody deserves to be loved and to feel love.  Maybe, obviously, that driver was quite happy to be divorced, but I hope that their happiness isn't just being alone.  I hope they find it again.

Then I started to think about my trashed car 7 1/2  years ago and what has become of that beginning.  It's pretty awesome actually.  And I am quite possibly the luckiest girl in the world.  There is all sorts of crazy in my little head.  But my D is beyond patient.  He is the only one who asks me a bajillion times what is wrong when I am hurt or angry and bury my heart into the deepest depths of my soul.  He is the only one that keeps loving me when my crazy comes around.  He thinks I'm cute when I don't see it.  He keeps trying when it would just be easier to give up.  When I would probably give up on me.  He loves me when it is least fun and most impossible.  He loves me because I am me.  He doesn't want anything else.  And neither do I. 

(Well. . .maybe that body I lived in 7 1/2 years ago. . .but that's a whole different story)