The Walking Wounded

Friday evening, before I made the fated phone call that started the weekend from heck, we were at our friends' house, having a wonderful, relaxing evening. We enjoyed a delicious brisket prepared by our hosts, and the children had a fabulous time playing outside in the back yard.

Until the blood curdling screams began.

I could tell it was Scooter, and was fairly sure it was a hurt scream and not a pissed off scream. BD hit the door running, and by the time I got to the back porch, all I saw was a blood-covered Scooter Pie. My poor baby walked in front of the swing at exactly the wrong time, and Tink kneed her right in the mouth.

Did I mention she was covered in blood? She was, y'all. Her face, her hair, her shirt, and her arms. Covered. In. Blood. I am happy to report that blood does not adversely affect me. Thank Goodness.

Let me tell you about my tough little girl. Before we had her clean enough to come in the house, she had stopped screaming. By the time we got her in the bathroom to check out the damage, she had completely stopped crying. We got her clothes changed and sent her into the living room to rest with Daddy, and by the time I made it into the living room, she was outside again.

Tough Girl.

I am happy to report that no teeth were loosened, but she took a nasty gash to the inside of her mouth. It's getting better every day, though.

I repeat, Tough Girl.