Halle learned a valuable lesson about graffiti today: If your plan for getting out of trouble is blaming your sister, avoid writing your own initial all over the carpet.
Two weeks ago, the carpet in her bedroom had a much different story. I greeted her Sunday morning when she came downstairs. "How did you sleep?" I asked.
"Bad. I slept bad."
"Oh no. Why?"
"Oh, because I throwed up all over the floor."
"Yeah, Grover throwed up too."
I went upstairs with her to survey the damage. The bathroom light next to her bedroom was on. "Why is the light on in the bathroom?"
"Well, because I slept in there last night."
I noticed a clean guest towel crumpled next to the bathroom rug. She had thrown up all over her bed, the carpet, and the guest bed next to her bed. Afterwards, instead of going downstairs and informing me of the situation, she curled up on the bathroom rug and went right back to sleep.
After church, we met a friend and went to a Harness race. Standing in a crowd of spectators, I glanced down and saw that Halle's pants were around her ankles. Diarrhea strikes. I shoved Morgan into my friend's arms and rushed Halle to the bathroom for a change of clothes. I wonder if Halle will have a recurring nightmare of forgetting to wear pants when she gets older.
Last week, we almost got swept away by a tornado. It was during this instance that I was reminded that I am the worst possible person to be with in a crisis situation. My friend whom I had met for coffee had received a phone call that a friend who lived near her had lost her house. So, as we sat waiting for news, power, or a favorable change in the weather, she happened to mention that her house was a mess. "Maybe it won't matter," I said. Immediately after saying this, I realized it was not a comforting comment.
I suppose the moral of all these events is that you can never be prepared for everything that comes. But you can learn to keep your mouth shut. Obviously, I'm still working on the second.