There has been a plague of road rash upon us. It has been years since I skinned a knee, but I still remember how bad it feels to have knee skin scraped off lemon zester style on the sidewalk. Last night on our after dinner walk Lucy had a terrible Barbie Scooter crash. I tried to make her feel better by pointing out that it takes a while to get good at scooter riding. She cried that it was NOT her scooter riding, but the bumpy sidewalk that was at fault. I am just lucky she doesn’t understand the ins and outs of local government, or she would surely be flooding Sam Adams (Portland’s Mayor) office with communications in inch high d’nealian letters about the dangers of bumpy sidewalks. That man surely has bigger fish to fry. The wailing and carrying on about the skinned elbow made all the fireworks in the neighborhood seem like the sweet chirping of birds. Yeesh.
On our way to the park today, Tennessee was hurtling down the street after his buddy. He caught an edge with his Croc and got both knees and palms. I wiped his nose and knees and tried to downplay all of the blood. Lucy helped by saying things like “Wow! That is soooo much blood!” He pulled himself together enough to enjoy some sliding and swinging. When walking home time came, Tennessee lost it. He wailed and cried, moaned and sobbed all the way home. He screamed while I cleaned his knees, he hollered while I washed his hands. He was so disappointed when I put a band-aid on the bloodiest of his knees, and it still hurt. “Dith band-aid th’not working!” He cried himself to sleep on the sofa. I think I may have to join him.
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