ER

Holidays have never been easy for me. Plenty of drama. Too many spinning plates. And I'm not a good juggler. So it is always a relief when real crisis hits. As the turkey aroma tugged at our taste buds and organization of side dishes ensued, my oldest took a dive into a pool of hardwood. Not really the right metaphor, it was actually more like a slip and crash and "I didn't catch myself, Mommy." There were tears followed by bandaids and wait time and then "Yes, we need to go to the ER." As my friends arrived, I hugged and said, "the kitchen is yours," and M and I headed to Missouri Baptist. Several stitches later (on the chin), along with a popsicle, a movie, and many phone calls home (regarding turkey instructions), we sat down to Thanksgiving dinner.

P.S. M proved to be his father's son. He was brave and strong during the entire ordeal. And the turkey turned out just right.

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