Tonight I did a very stupid thing. I’ve done it before and anytime Horatio sees me do it, he cringes, but he knows I’d never change. Except now I will.
I, like many people, carefully slice bagels and bread by holding it in my hand and slowing bringing the knife toward my hand.
Stupid. I know.
But I never had a problem. Until today.
After a long day away, coming home to cut the grass with Dwight, tidying up after a 6 a.m. departure, emptying the dishwasher (you get the picture), I was slicing freshly baked baguettes for the boys’ dinner.
Bob was watching, waiting patiently for his dinner. He is ALWAYS hungry. The long bread knife sliced easily through the bread. More easily than I’d expected. It cut straight through the bread, into my middle and ring fingers. A nice clean slice.
Bob immediately put his hands over his eyes, as I grabbed a bounty paper towel (only the quicker picker upper would work in this case).
I asked him if he was afraid of the blood and his response will go down in the family book of classics.
He said, “No Mommy. I’m afraid that now you won’t be able to make my dinner, and you are the only parent here who can do it.” Very observent.
Later, though, after I carefully, slowly and successfully completed his sandwich, bandaged fingers and all, and handed it to his eagerly awaiting 7 year old hands, he said, “Thank you, Mommy. And I’m glad your fingers are ok. I love you.”
Ah, confidence restored.