He was walking across my freshly mopped floor with a pair of scissors for a craft project on the other side of the room. He fell forward and the scissors punctured the skin below his right nostril and above his upper lip. In two places. One for each blade.
Yes, I freaked out. Yes, I cried.
While Greg stayed back with the rest of the kids, I drove Our Sweetie to his pediatrician’s office – who was thankfully keeping late hours. And in my typical, calm fashion, I had a small meltdown on the way there. The sad part was I started mentally reprimanding God.
This is the last thing we need right now.
Do you know what kind of year we’ve had?
Don’t you understand what our situation is?!
Don’t you care?! Aren’t you supposed to care?
WHERE are you!!!???
And then came my reprimand. While glancing helplessly over at my son who was holding a bloody cloth to his lip, a clear voice came right into my brain and said –
“Rachael… it wasn't his eye.”
Before I could really ponder what had just occurred, my cell phone rang.
It was Greg.