I was making dinner. Jane was sitting at the dining room table reading The Hero and The Crown. Hal was hopping around, and Daryl was working on his science poster about sea otters. Life was good.
Working on a poster with a broken thumb on your dominant hand poses a challenge. (Quick side note: it somehow doesn’t prevent you from shooting baskets outside after rushing through your poster, however). Since the thumb hampers basic skills like writing and cutting, I asked Jane to cut out his pictures for him that he had printed off the internet. And I bit my tongue at the sloppy handwriting – even though I knew it had as much to do with rushing as with fractures.
I turned around in time to see him leaning over his poster with a picture centered on the poster and a stapler flared out. His hand was already pressing down when I yelled STOP!!
But I was too late. Yes, he had just stapled his poster to our dining room table.
“What did you think was going to happen?!”
“Well! I forgot the table was there!”
Really. He forgot the table that he was leaning on was there. If my husband had been home, he would have said, “This is why we can’t have nice things while we have kids.” Not that the table is nice anymore. It’s got various other kid-induced stains and scratches all over it. We haven’t replaced or resurfaced it because… well… we knew it was only a matter of time before someone scratched, stained, or… stapled it.