I have to preface her story by explaining that Tristan got stitches on Friday. He fell in a running race and gashed his knee warranting an ER visit, six stitches and a trip to McDonalds for a milk shake rewarding his bravery through the ordeal.
So Monday night Im on the phone long-distance when Abi comes running through the kitchen yelling that Britain has broken something. I investigated and found our very large mirror laying across Britains bed splintered in a million shards of glass. The way I understand it, she was building a diving board off her bed and it broke when she tried to jump on it.
Britain’s guardian angel gets a bonus. She was nearly unscathed aside from a tiny cut on her baby toe.
I set her down for a very lengthy “come-to-Jesus-talk” mingled with a tirade of “do you know what could have happened to you?!!” Because she was so intently listening to my every word, I assumed that my little speech on applying wisdom was making sense to her. After I finished droning on, I asked if she had something to say.
“Yes mama” She poised herself with great sincerity.
This was it, I thought…I was getting through
…an apology?
…an epiphany?
“Mommy”, she asked. “Do I get a shake like Tristan, since I got a boo-boo?”
So much for that “teachable moment.”