Live Action from the Front Lines

So, I put Quinn to bed at 7 p.m. like always (ok, it was 6:45, but don't tell her.) She played in bed for an hour before I heard a quiet lull. Then suddenly I heard her scream bloody murder. It seemed like a fast personality switch, so I ran (walked) in there. I got her from the bed and put her on my lap on the rocking chair. Then I realized .... oh, bloody. Blood started pouring from her nose. What the heck?

There could only be two options -- a bonk or a pick. You know --a bonk, which is bound to happen when you jump in your crib for 55 minutes or a daring pick gone terribly wrong. As she calmed down. I tried to ask her: was it like this (imitate a bonk on the nose) or like this (imitate a pick). At one point she told me it was bonk, so I did what any reasonable (or stupid) person would do. I touched her nose to see if it made her cry again. No crying. Not broken. No bonk.

But then later she started demonstrating what could only be explained as a monster pick. If I could translate her gestures into words I would have to say, "I just wanted to see what was up there. All the way up there." She kind of moved her picking finger along the side of her nose all the way up to her forehead. Dear me. Yeah, that would hurt AND bleed.

So, I don't really know what happen, but I do know what I am supposed to be working and instead Quinn is sitting by me on the couch watching (even MORE) Elmo today because I've got to wipe the flow every few minutes.

There you have it. Live action from the front lines.