sliced & dead

Thurs 12.01.11


This morning I hear Kapria shout: "My finger is sliced open!" I run into the bathroom (where she's reading) and see that her finger is, indeed, bleeding. But not cut open, thank goodness.

"The paper sliced my finger open, Mom," she says while holding up her pointer finger.

"Oh, you got your first paper cut. Ouch. That happens sometimes," I said.

"I will never read a book again," she said.

"You can still read books, Kapria. It was just an accident. Your finger will get better."

"But the book sliced me! I don't want it to ever happen again!"

"Think of all the times you've read books," I said. "You never got a cut until today. It doesn't happen that often. You can still read books."

"Okay," she says.
But then she hands me the offending book and says, "Will you read it to me? I can't hold it right now. It sliced me."

Hours later and she's still coddling her paper-cut finger. For some reason those little cuts can really sting. We keep putting neosporin and new bandaids on it because she says it stings so much. Poor finger.

The Culprit:

Poor book. I hope it's forgiven soon.

This afternoon at the park, Kapria runs up to me and grabs my hand."Mom! I have to show you something!" she says.

She pulls me over to a park maintenance truck, which is full of fallen leaves, tree branches, and pine needles that the workers have been cleaning up since before we arrived. She points and says, "Is that a dead manatee?"

I look around, trying to see anything that could possibly resemble a dead manatee. Then I notice a large, bulging bundle laying on the ground next to the truck.

"Do you mean that?" I ask.

"Yeah! It's a dead manatee. Right, Mom?"

Well no, it's not a dead manatee in the middle of a park in the middle of our city. But I can see why she thinks so.

"It's a tarp, sweetie," I say, still staring at the cream-colored plastic and picturing its roundness starting with a head and whiskers and tapering down to a wide, floppy tail. "It's full of all the leaves and pine needles that the guys are raking up."

"Oh. I thought it was a dead manatee," she says in soft, disappointed voice.

"I'm glad it's not a dead manatee!" I say. "It's better to see them alive."

"Okay, Mom." she says, then runs back to the playground.

Pretty sure she wasn't convinced, since she ran by the "dead manatee" several times the rest of our visit. Anyone know of a great place to visit living manatees? I'm thinking a trip to Florida would be just the thing to convince her.

(photos from here)