Thursday morning, 6:30. Averi Kate is ready to eat. I bring her downstairs and feed her, then head to the kitchen to start breakfast and - most importantly - make my morning tea. I put Averi Kate in a basket because even though she is strong, she sometimes gets floppy and suddenly topples onto the floor and I didn't want her to hit the kitchen floor with her head first thing in the morning. I open the fridge and notice that the awesomeness that is "Oatmeal Chocolate Peanut Butter No Bake Bars" (thanks to pinterest and Michelle Pate) is sitting, uncovered, in a pyrex casserole dish on the bottom shelf.
Oh my, I think to myself, I meant to cover that last night before I went to bed. Now it's all hard and crusty. Oh well, I guess I'll just have to scrape it off the bottom. What can I use...Oh, look, there is a serrated kitchen knife lying on the counter. Why, I'll just use that.
So I grab the knife with my right hand, grab the dish with my left hand, and start scraping.
It is more stuck than I realized.
I really brace the back of the dish with my left hand, and really dig in hard with the right. I give it all I have.
And then the knife slips.
I knew I had cut myself. I dropped (read: pulled out) the knife and stuck my hand under the faucet, turned the water on, and then - only then - did I notice that my hand was bleeding not only from my palm, where I knew I had cut it, but also from the back of my hand.
And then I almost threw up.
But instead, I calmly called out, "Coach?"
And as I realized that he was still asleep upstairs and he is really hard to get up even when I'm standing right beside him and oh my goodness I just impaled my hand with a knife I might have gotten a little more panicky and though in my mind I was sure I was staying calm, I might have actually been screaming hysterically.
And then the Coach finally did stumble down the stairs, disoriented and certain that I had Averi Kate in the sink and something was terribly wrong with her.
No, AK is fine. She's in a basket. It's just my hand. I stabbed a knife through it.
Long story short(er), we went to the ER, had some xrays, got the wound cleaned and covered, and now 10 days later, I can finally move my fingers enough to type. It wasn't my best moment and not one that I would like to repeat. ever. But I am ever so grateful for several elements of this story...
1. I am so thankful that Spencer was at home when it happened. I don't know what I would have done if I had been home alone with the girls.
2. I'm glad that Spencer got fully dressed before we went to the hospital. It was debatable for a few minutes there, when he ran upstairs to put shorts on and instead came back down with 2 shirts on and still in his boxers.
3. I didn't get any bones, and as far as I know, no major nerves. I can't quite straighten out all my fingers yet, but I am seeing progress every day, so I'm pretty hopeful about the outcome.
4. I can't even begin to express how grateful I am for my mom, who came up that day to help me with the house and the girls. And for my sweet mother in law who helped as we stayed with her all that weekend.
5. I'm so glad that Claire's finger is ok. Because the whole time at the hospital, as I was bleeding out and sure that my hand was going to have to be amputated, Claire was very concerned about a hangnail on her left hand. Thank goodness that turned out ok.
Here are a few pics that Mrs. Kay snapped when we were there for the weekend...
Averi Kate's first ride on the 4-wheeler...
Oh, also, we're moving. In a month.
Other than all that, not much is going on around here.