The Patient with Patience

There we were, eating dinner peacefully, when Molly asked "I be 'cused, Momma?" and pranced away from the kitchen stools to execute one of her patented life-endangering jumps from the kitchen down the two wooden steps to the family room. This is a move she has performed lo these many months and while it always makes a mother's heart skip a beat, this time it made a mother cower in the corner fearing to see whether her youngest offspring's eyeball was still intact as there was much wailing and a large pool of blood where her right eye should have been peering mischeviously up at me. Thankfully, the Lord provided for me and I didn't have to witness any smooshed eyeballs. Dean was home again and mopped up the mess and got a good look at her while I was praying out loud for her eyeball and her future as a girl with a glass eyeball trying to find suitors. Turns out it was just a nice big deep laceration through her eyebrow. Dean tried to convince me to just glue it at home, but since it was her FACE, her beautiful little FACE, I was insistent on the ER. I prayed someone good would be there, someone who knew how to handle children and who didn't have a significant hand tremor that would result in her eyebrow being lopsided for life and people saying "You know, Molly Kendziera, the girl with the pretty blond curls and the crazy brow?". And once again, prayers were answered, my boss, ER whiz Pete Kamhout, who knows just how to deal with little girls, having one himself, and whose other career is in aesthetics was there to put seven perfect little stitches in and put things to rights. The best part was the patient herself. That is where the word patient, in fact comes from, if you look in the dictionary it will show a picture of Molly JoJo watching the iTouch and succumbing to the deep deep sedative effects of Curious George and holding still and being patient in a pretenaturally calm way for a two-year-old. There's just something about this kid. I wish I could swallow her whole.