Vicki had a craft show today, so Samson, Jane, and I had the whole day together. It was a nice, crisp fall day, and after Jane took a marathon nap [that hour time change really took it out of her], we headed out to the park.
For reasons I'm still not clear on, Samson decided that instead of going down the slide the usual way, he'd play paratrooper from the top and simply jump. I was half-turned away from him as Jane came down the slide, and the next thing I knew there was a loud thump and a blood-curdling scream. Actually, I guess it was more like a blood-gurgling scream.
Young Samson has the terrible but aw-shucks-cute habit of sticking his tongue out slightly while he does things (running, writing, playing). According to my parents, I did this too. I'd love to know how something like this is inherited.
Anyway, this little habit literally came back to bite him today. Sam landed on the ground, and, as best as I could tell, his knee struck his chin and his teeth punctured his tongue. Cue the screaming and spitting of blood.
It just so happened that only a moment before, a kind grandmotherly looking lady had sat down on a bench near us and gave me this big beatific smile as if to say "look at that nice dad playing with his kids; they sure look like a nice family."
By the time Samson had finished rinsing the blood out of his mouth, and Jane had ended her temper tantrum (brought on by my refusal to let her go up on the slide by herself while I tended to her brother), that lady was long gone.
I like to think she ran, but she did look pretty old. She probably just walked briskly.
Sam is fine, by the way, but he'll have to be careful while he's eating for the next few days.
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