I was cooking dinner -- the kid's fave. Breakfast for dinner, on Thursday night. I hadn't cooked pancakes in years, and screwed it up a couple of times before I got it right. But when I got it right, boy did I. Cecelia said, "Mom, these pancakes are the best ever. Better than daddy's, even. Will you make them again and again?" Funny how our kids learn to appeal to our egos, at such a young age.
I sent her to the tub after dinner. While I was cleaning, I heard a high-pitched scream from her bathroom. Not a wimpy little attention-seeking scream, but a true oh my god there is a giant cockroach in my bathtub type scream. She was in agony, and I quickly responded.
When I went into the bathroom, she had her lucky toenail on display at the edge of the tub. It had been stationary and stabile for months. Now, it was about 99.9% removed. She was crying hysterically. I quickly assessed the situation. "Cecelia, are you crying because you hurt, or are you crying because you are scared?" "I am scared, mom. My toenail is about to fall off." I told her not to worry, that a new one would grow, and everything would be ok. I asked her if she wanted me to get some scissors and cut it off. "NO." Then I went back to Jack and cleaning.
A few minutes later, I heard hysterics again. Lordy, lord. But this time, it was hysterical laughter. She came pattering into the kitchen, buck naked and dripping, holding her blue lucky toenail in her hands. "Mom, can you get me a baggie? So I can take my lucky toenail to show and tell? Guess what? There is a NEW toenail underneath! And there is this red line (between the new and the old) that is so pretty. So I still have a lucky toenail!"
Thank GOD for lucky toenails. I promise to quit writing about lucky toenails.
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