Injury

Sometimes Ian eats more lunch when I serve it with toothpicks. He likes to stab stuff.

Unfortunately, he stabbed his own self. It started innocently enough; chicken bits and cheese and apples, all in little cubes...cute little multicolored toothpicks.

I don't know exactly how it happened, but he stabbed his finger, right in that tender part on the inside of where his finger connects to his hand. Oh, the drama.

Fortunately, a Spongebob bandaid took care of the pain, and his ear-piercing screams subsided after it was securely in place.

He lay, recouping on my bed, as I did some chores upstairs. Twenty minutes later, he starts whimpering. I peek around the corner into the room to make sure there isn't anything dangerous going on.

He looks at me and says through big crocodile tears, "I don't want to use toothpicks ever again."