My poor children. It’s as if they are wanting to start boxing, or mob enforcement. You know, starting the scars and black-eyes early to intimidate.
So I get home from soccer practice, pick up some junk food (take 3 of those miniature chicken sandwiches, some shrimp-fried-rice and a 7UP), pop in the new Batman Begins and attempt to relax in the basement. It’s 8pm, the littlest one should be on her way to bed.
“(patter of little feet) dada, dada, DADA…”
“Hi honey. Want to watch with me?”
“Okay. Alright.”
So it becomes a family affair as soon as the wife discovers the little one got downstairs. Ty on the chair, me with my mound of junk, and the little one in between me and the wife under a rather large quilt. As I’m watching and eating I don’t notice my daughter squirming next to me attempting to reach towards the coffee table – neither does me wife. The sound that came next is hard to describe in words. Think: Thud + Wham + Clunk + Holy SHIT my kid just hit her fucking head on the wooden coffee table and didn’t my OTHER kid just get rushed to the emergency room for possibly breaking his nose – kind of sound. Then eerie silence. Then explosion of horrific screams.
So she just missed her eye (thank god), is rather swollen, but all in all in great spirits. What next, the dog is going to walk into a bear trap?