The little one had quite the morning.
She danced with the Wiggles. She is too cute at the "stomp-stomp-stomp clap-clap-clap wiggle your hips - just like that" part. I fear she'll be swinging from the pole in the center of the stage when she hits 18. At least it'll pay for college.
From dancing, she decided it was time for pancakes and maple syrup. Ohhh-kay! She got three silver dollar pancakes, Vermont syrup, and her berry juice. Oh no, she's not a princess.
Then it was get ready for school. I dress her in her little short outfit and her socks and said, "Don't run around until I get your shoes on." Talking to the wall wouldhave made more impact 'cause not even a nanosecond later
I heard something that distinctly sounded like a hammer hitting a stud. She slipped and fell and her little head whacked right where the molding meets at the corner under our breakfast bar. And the sucker has a helluva point on it.
She was wailing something awful. I scooped her up and checked for blood. Nope. I placed her on the couch and told her I was going to get ice. I grabbed a cold pack out of the freezer and placed it gently on the medium size egg on her skull. I asked if she could hold it while I grabbed the Tylenol. She had her right hand holding the icy gel pack on her head, and her left hand clutched around Lambie's neck. She took her Tylenol shooter like a champ. After about two minutes, her crying had pretty much stopped.
I told her school what happened in case she complains about feeling sick or says her head really hurts.
Oh well. Time to buy a crash helmet.